R O K O V O K O

Three Women

2012-01-11T11:25:00.000-05:00

Photographer: Alexander C. Kafka
Models: Cherise, Megan, Kamilah
Wardrobe: Stella Bonds, Kamilah
Makeup: Kamilah
Production: Maria Esquivel, Photo Hispana
Location: Intown Uptown Hotel, Washington, D.C.
Copyright (c) 2012 -- all rights reserved

Precinct Seven

2012-01-06T16:11:00.000-05:00

Precinct Seven by akafka

2012-01-04T07:22:00.002-05:00

Delphine, Part 2

2012-01-03T22:34:00.000-05:00

Delphine, Part 2 by akafka

2012-01-02T18:10:00.003-05:00

2012-01-02T00:11:00.000-05:00

Delphine

2011-12-30T23:19:00.000-05:00

Delphine by akafka

2011-12-30T21:28:00.003-05:00

The Woman Who Drives the Bug

2011-12-30T11:56:00.001-05:00

The Woman Who Drives the Bug by akafka

2011-12-23T18:43:00.005-05:00

2011-12-20T09:56:00.001-05:00

Gravity Unbound

2011-12-17T21:54:00.001-05:00

Gravity Unbound by akafka

2011-12-16T17:11:00.000-05:00

"The difference between the artist and the non-artist is not a greater capacity for feeling. The secret is that the artist can objectify, can make apparent the feelings we all have."

-Martha Graham

Tree Man

2011-12-16T11:46:00.002-05:00

life like
electronic advisories
does not accommodate
replies

nature by nature is
unnatural turning nothings
into somethings then
back again as
if to see simply
whether it can

you are one with
the wild not
because you're wild but
because the wild toys
with you makes
you this and not
that arbitrarily
beautiful artfully
ugly

gone today here
tomorrow my
sorrow your joy
and then
switch and
then

peel me sprout
blossom whither
given giver
rooted seared
and split by
lightning I was
here I
will
be again

2011-12-13T13:17:00.006-05:00

2011-12-13T11:38:00.002-05:00

"There is nothing ugly in art except that which is without character, that is to say that which offers no outer or inner truth."

-Rodin

Shadows

2011-12-12T10:53:00.001-05:00

Shadows stalk me still.
Never get their fill.
How could you delight
in the morning's light
if the nighttime had no will?

When the evening comes,
our contents under pressure,
antiseptic, screwed on tight,
strictly contained--

will you meet my eyes
and read their urgent message
and confront your demons
when I call your name?

Rock me tender, rock me slow.
There's still time till you must go.
Even if it's just one night,
kiss me long and hold me tight.
Rock me tender, rock me slow.

Long as you're alone,
as your desires roam,
smile as you may,
however bright the day,
you'll face shadows of your own.

Let our palettes merge,
our shadows, light converge
into a panorama rich
as it is bold.

Let the shadows play
and make their cautious way
amid the cool of living's shades
and feeling's folds.

Rock me tender, rock me slow.
Must you leave? Why must you go?
Let the day carry the night.
Kiss me long and hold me tight.
Rock me tender, rock me slow.

(originally published in Quail Bell Web zine)

Pond of Keybed

2011-12-07T14:57:00.002-05:00

the pianist rediscovered
her in a pond of keybed

he'd given up hope but
found in felt hammers
her weight, her resistance,
her warm tension

he recalled New England woods
where muffled fugues
ricocheted off pines
and breeze-wafted ballades
sank into sun-splashed lawns

harmony resurges
in a moment's
augmented overtone

then vanishes
into that entreating,
diminished sound
of long ago

Photo by A.C.K. and Anna Morosini
Poem by A.C.K.

2011-12-05T12:40:00.001-05:00

"Poetry is a distinct faculty, — it won't come when called, — you may as well whistle for a wind."

-Byron

Crystal Slug

2011-12-01T13:33:00.004-05:00

Blossom Dream

2011-11-28T10:35:00.020-05:00

the stems wind round us
and i sun-stunned
see you flower

cherry blossom trunk
petal eyelids

sway together
in a rain of
scorn--uncaring
daring delight

Natalya

2011-11-27T14:08:00.002-05:00

Photography: Alexander C. Kafka
Copyright (c) 2011; all rights reserved

Model: Natalya Chepura

Producer and Wardrobe:
Maria Esquivel--Photo Hispana

Makeup and Hair:
Josett Valdez--Yana Services

Cherie's Moods

2011-11-23T23:11:00.003-05:00

Photography: Alexander C. Kafka
Copyright (c) 2011; all rights reserved

Model: Cherie

Producer and Wardrobe:
Maria Esquivel--Photo Hispana

Makeup and Hair:
Josett Valdez--Yana Services

Indoor Lighting and Backdrops Courtesy of:
Delreeco Walker and Estevan Huguet

Restless Autumn

2011-11-23T08:05:00.002-05:00

bared branches dinosaur
necks arc over drizzled asphalt mist
hugs us in its ambivalent
grace chiding us for our
impatience

you arrive resplendent unseasonably
warm like the day valleyed between
fronts and angle yourself
as though it were preordained

positioned fate your
choreographer you share
your rich moods with our
moodiness looking
to lock onto a visible truth

you frown the air
cools you smile a warmth
of incandescent
surety

dusk brings the ordinary
no ordinary dusk
for you brought light
to setting

Photography: Alexander C. Kafka
Copyright (c) 2011; all rights reserved

Models:
Zhanar Jumanova, Natalya Chepura

Producer and Wardrobe:
Maria Esquivel--Photo Hispana

Makeup and Hair:
Josett Valdez--Yana Services

The Rose Dream

2011-11-20T00:22:00.002-05:00

Memento Mori

2011-11-20T00:21:00.002-05:00

The Rose Lover (collab. with Anna Morosini)

2011-11-16T14:59:00.001-05:00

Chet Baker With 50 Italian Strings

2011-11-08T16:13:00.000-05:00

Mediterranean pull
taut warmth
strung out on chords

what is the mot juste
for this just note?
just the note
the moment asks for--
just that note
and no note more

a raised seventh
a simple request no
one could deny and
no one could grant--
impossibly beautiful
beautifully impossible

Single-Malt Cowboy (Song Lyrics)

2011-11-08T11:55:00.006-05:00

he's a single-malt cowboy
100-proof killjoy
with a boozy bravado
and an amber tomorrow

a Cuervo shooter
a late night hooter
wannabe Cooder
a sweetheart's looter

he'll happily tell you his story
but he won't listen to yours
has a sure-fire strategy
to open all kinds of doors

he drove into this one-horse town
in a two-door German sedan
holding a mail-order Stetson
and a three-page business plan

he's a scene stealer
an Amstel healer
a face-down dealer
deep-kiss repealer

he's a name dropper
empathy stopper
a diet-pill popper
and a last-joke topper

     a girl dreams of fresh faces
     of strangers riding in
     a woman she knows better--
     seen them scatter to the wind

     a friend is too familiar
     to catch your eye tonight
     but when you're left all on your own
     I'll be there to hold you tight

he's under cover
always above her
restlessness hovers
can't ever love her

draw him in
and he'll get real scared
he's a one-man show
so be prepared

he'll happily tell you his story
but his story won't ever be yours
a new love is constant adventure,
an old love nothing but chores

he drove into this one-horse town
in a two-door German sedan
he'll drive right on out of here,
but he'll never ever be your man

he's a single-malt cowboy
100-proof killjoy
with boozy bravado
and a lonely tomorrow

Rose Photos

2011-11-06T20:50:00.003-05:00

Watchful Rose

Rose Gymnast

Rose Shroud

Falling Into Roses

2011-11-04T15:29:00.002-04:00

"I’ve always liked fiddling about with stuff as a way of thinking. Because I’m not sure I trust thinking by itself. In fact, it’s got me into a lot of trouble."

-Anthony Gormley, Sculptor

Digitally Remastered

2011-11-04T12:07:00.001-04:00

he was unprepared
for the effects
of digitally
remastering himself

his wife
at his touch
sprouted odd
neck hairs
that torqued
toward overhead
space junk

his children clutched
their seats when
he prepared to
speak because they
knew the floor
would shimmy
from his sub
wolfing pumped
up basso

he dreamed of the
microforging of
dangerous plated
conflict minerals
and awoke crying
nitrous tears

he tried to
revert but his
analog self had
been left
in the rain

he played what
was left of
it and it stretched
and spiraled and
tore with one
last crescendoing
static huff

now he is
muted his high
resolution
transparent

Makaraba

2011-11-03T18:32:00.000-04:00

Makaraba by akafka

Epiphany

2011-11-03T15:09:00.002-04:00

Cloud Woman

2011-11-03T10:36:00.003-04:00

her quiet was unquiet
her calm was uncalm
her intent was intent
her love like a psalm

she was the proximal zone
where his undevelop meant
to be with her but alone
both caressing and absent

he loved what he saw
but he adored what wasn't there
not her face but its shadows
as she hid it in her hair

when her cool eyes regarded him
he looked back unyearned
but the fires devoured
when her lovely back turned

-Doritt Carroll and Alexander C. Kafka

Photograph by Anna Morosini and Alexander C. Kafka

(Poem and photograph originally published in the Web zine Forty Ounce Bachelors)

Retreat

2011-11-03T10:32:00.003-04:00

The sinewy lifeguards strut 'round in their Tevas,
Jantzen-sheathed, brown-skinned barbecue divas.
The elders swim laps while the preachers toss salads
to the strains of capo-necked, four-chord ballads.

The boy in the bath house texts in a panic.
Reception is iffy and his girlfriend's gone manic.
Status updated and passion encrypted,
this wasn't the break-up he'd carefully scripted.

Hungry and tired, the Teen Choir emerges
from bug bites and poker and prayer groups and purges.
They claw at the raft out adrift in the lake,
afraid and alive, with salvation at stake.

(originally published in the Web zine Forty Ounce Bachelors)

Montana Cutting Horses

2011-11-02T12:32:00.000-04:00

2011-11-02T11:20:00.003-04:00

"From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step: Which is the sublime, and which the ridiculous, every one must settle for himself."

- Augustus de Morgan

Where Are You Tonight?

2011-11-02T11:10:00.003-04:00

You're one part invisible,
one part out of my sight.
I search for you within your lair.
Where are you tonight?

Your friends are thin like models,
but ravenous like wolves.
One plays that ol' bad-ass flute,
wears loafers on his hooves.

Of course you blend in
when you’re nowhere to be seen,
but what you’re never wearing
betrays just where you’ve been.

You ache for Bordeau,
but all you drink is port.
You say it’s affectation
from that Alsace resort.

Desired in Crimea,
beloved in South of France.
All this trouble started
when you learned the Nero dance.

You're the light I read by,
but I can't turn you on.
Your switch is on the blink, I think,
and when I blink it's gone.

Where, oh where, are you tonight?

Just You

2011-11-01T19:11:00.001-04:00

Just You by akafka

Flower Dancer

2011-11-01T17:22:00.001-04:00

Lo

2011-11-01T16:39:00.007-04:00

you are front
and back of
a canvas

economical that
and artful
too in that you
forward
me even
when you
leave me

you broach me
in retrospect
prelude
me in afterthought
our chats on
going
complete by
inference

paint translucent
frugal thin but
definite

i live and
love a
wash in you

Uncritical Affinity

2011-11-01T16:39:00.006-04:00

she was parenthetical
peering out from
beyond the tapered curves

nestled comfortably
but melancholically
in the spaces between

vital sentiments

her man was declarative
appositive
her children
interrogative

her mother
ejaculatory

then one day she found
an em-dashed seraph
proudly extraneous and
breathtaking

meaning didn't demand
her but her specifics
lent notions the
wingspan of prophecy
and thoughts were
slender for her
absence

in the pillared shadows
of connotative equinox
they whispered
unnecessaries to each other
ellipsing into
confidantes periods
of pointed pointless
suggestion between
them

Peacock Gymnast

2011-11-01T16:37:00.005-04:00

Fragile Epiphanies

2011-11-01T16:36:00.003-04:00

god's grand tongue
could squeeze the juice
from a thick Montana cloud

it could lick the planet's fur
against its grain
then back again
until it purred to its core

sweet minds
have minds of their own
shuddering earth plates
fragmenting, soldering together
in sticky lava chaos

we worship from our
webbed cages
tangled, hypnotized
by coarse grandeur
then hollowed in our
grave descent
to sullen spent sleep

Cafe Empire

2011-11-01T16:35:00.003-04:00

We were expecting you--
about 30 years ago
but your table's still waiting.
Just sweep away the roaches.

The coat-check girl passed out
from the smell. You see,
her predecessor hung himself
and they can't cut down the body
till the coroner comes--
which won't be till the
ticket goes through
and the printer's out of ink.
Could be a while--
so, um, maybe don't check your coat.

The bartender's bringing your port,
but even with his walker
the tray's unsteady and
I see much of it has already spilled.
Didn't help that he had to
get around the bar-back, who
when she should've been cutting moldy lemons,
was juggling soap bubbles from the backed-up sink--
ever so slowly--
and they kept popping
on her eyebrow rings.

The head waitress will read you our specials.
Pay no mind to the blood on her cuffs.
She's a cutter, but it's more or less
under control since her pot-bellied pig returned
and she started shooting up.

We have cold cuts.
That's about it.
We can warm them if you like.

Tip the musicians, won't you?
But don't wake them.
Those fiddles haven't been
tuned in ten months.

Where'd your date go?
Was she put off by that
urchin under the table
gumming your shins?

That's not uncommon here.
Picaresque, we think.
The peasant soul and all that shit.

Enjoy.

Film in Focus

2007-10-24T13:31:00.000-04:00

Gone Baby Gone
Director: Ben Affleck. Screenplay: Ben Affleck, Aaron Stockard, based on a novel by Dennis Lehane. Cinematography: John Toll. Film editing: William Goldenberg. Production design: Sharon Seymour. Music: Harry Gregson-Williams. Producers: Ben Affleck, Sean Bailey, Alan Ladd Jr., Danton Rissner. With: Casey Affleck, Michelle Monaghan, Morgan Freeman, Ed Harris, John Ashton, Amy Ryan, Amy Madigan, Titus Welliver, Michael Kenneth Williams, Edi Gathegi, Mark Margolis, Madeline O’Brien, Slaine, Trudi Goodman, Matthew Maher, Jill Quigg, Sean Malone, Brian Scannell, Jay Giannone, William Lee, Jimmy LeBlanc, Kippy Goldfarb, Elizabeth Duff, Cathie Callanan, Cameron Henry, Bobby Curcuro, Matt Podolske. US. 113 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

Ben Affleck scores impressively in his feature-directing debut, thanks partly to his brother Casey Affleck’s inspired performance as a private eye who’s hired by a working-class family to energize the search for their kidnapped child, whom they suspect the police department has given up as lost.

The movie’s grim verisimilitude is further enhanced by director Affleck’s refusal to soften the story’s many tragic twists and to compromise the desolation of its darkest scenes or the confusion of its most chaotic moments. He and coscreenwriter Aaron Stockard also deserve credit for letting the characters speak in realistically crass language; as someone who lived in the Boston area for years, I can testify that every four-letter word rings true, and the ten- and twelve-letter ones do too.

On the downside, there’s a gaping hole in the plot (why don’t the cops examine the corpse in the quarry?) that weakens the picture’s second half, and another that does the same for the denouement. These flaws aside, though, Ben emerges here as an extremely promising director, and Casey consolidates his position as one of the most exciting young character actors in Hollywood today.

Boating Adventures: Photographs by Frances Borchardt

2007-10-22T21:17:00.000-04:00

Film in Focus

2007-10-22T12:41:00.000-04:00

Into the Wild
Director: Sean Penn. Screenplay: Sean Penn, based on the book by Jon Krakauer. Cinematography: Eric Gautier. Film editing: Jay Lash Cassidy. Production design: Derek R. Hill. Music: Michael Brook, Kaki King, Eddie Vedder. Producers: Art Linson, Sean Penn, William Pohlad. With: Emile Hirsch, Marcia Gay Harden, William Hurt, Jena Malone, Catherine Keener, Hal Holbrook, Vince Vaughn, Kristen Stewart, Brian Dierker, Zach Galifianakis, Thure Lindhardt, Robin Mathews, Haley Ramm, Bryce Walters, Steven Wiig. USA. 140 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

Sean Penn took on a real challenge when he decided to adapt Jon Krakauer’s eponymous book, which tells the true story of Christopher McCandless, a gifted and idealistic young man who finished college with flying colors, donated all of his savings to charity, and hit the road like a modern-day Jack Kerouac, hitchhiking from one short-term stopover and part-time job to another. Eventually he reached his final destination in Alaska, where he lived successfully off the land until a couple of unforeseen errors caused his death.

Penn‘s approach to this material is different from Krakauer’s in important ways. For starters, Krakauer reveals McCandless’s death at the get-go, while Penn saves it for the end, evidently hoping that suspense over the outcome will hook audiences more deeply into the tale. This is naïve; lots of people have read the book, and the paperback edition even puts the passage about McCandless’s demise on the cover. Yet it prefigures the conventional storytelling tactics of the picture as a whole, which replaces Krakauer’s clear-eyed pragmatism with high-key movie emotionalism.

Viewers unfamiliar with the film’s source won’t make such comparisons, of course, but they may be perplexed by some of the picture’s details. An example: McCandless is enough of a cultural rebel to give away one pile of cash and set fire to another when he enters the wild, but he’s not enough of a maverick to have sex with a sixteen-year-old girl who practically dragoons him into her bed. So is he a freethinking radical or not? This question is resolved in the book--to McCandless the girl was just another teenybopper, not interesting enough to be attractive--but in the movie it’s hastily and skimpily explained. (It doesn’t help that Tracy's played by a gorgeous actress who looks more like a movie star than a trailer-park waif.) More examples: Penn injects unneeded sentimentality into a sequence about McCandless’s friendship with an old man he’s met on the road, and he overuses a McCandless family secret as a raison d’être for the young adventurer’s restless, sometimes reckless personality. More broadly, Penn gives the film a flashback-heavy structure that mimics the book’s digressions into tangential subject areas (themselves an echo of McCandless’s digressive wanderings) without sustaining the intellectual momentum that makes Krakauer’s account so compelling. It’s possible to explain these decisions away—regarding the girl, for instance, McCandless may be manifesting the ascetic personality that took him to the wild in the first place—but Penn doesn’t deploy them cleverly enough to make them work as well as they need to.

I don’t normally push book-film comparisons this far; it’s a truism that adapting a book means exactly that, doing whatever’s necessary to make it speak in cinematic terms. But here the book is an extensively researched account that aspires to the lofty goal of journalistic truth, while the film is a highly subjective melodrama that aspires to the lower goal of psychologically plausible entertainment. Objectivity and subjectivity are relative qualities that exist more in theory than in practice, but the reduced impact of “Into the Wild” onscreen convinces me that Penn would have done better to sponsor a documentary that plugged directly into Krakauer’s chronicle, even if this meant dispensing with the remarkable portrayal of McCandless by Emile Hirsch, an actor of great promise. “Into the Wild” is a good movie based on material with far richer possibilities. And as a colleague said to me the other day, is Sean Penn really the guy to tell us burning money is a swell idea?

CLUED TUBE: 'Showdown With Iran'

2007-10-22T06:45:00.000-04:00

AP Photo/Vahid Salemi, courtesy of PBS

FRONTLINE: “Showdown With Iran”
Writer, producer, and director: Greg Baker
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
9-10 p.m.
PBS

Frontline offers a first-rate and frightening portrait of two national powers bungling an awkward diplomatic dance at a moment of opportunity, assuming the worst about each other’s motives, rousing their citizens with fearsome propaganda, and heading stubbornly toward potentially disastrous confrontation.

Here in outline is the story the briskly edited and impressively sourced program tells:

Post-9/11, the United States and Iran cooperated to a historic degree in fighting Taliban forces in Afghanistan. The U.S. nonetheless distrusted Iran’s hard-line government, and feared Iranian reformists were insufficiently powerful to significantly change the regime’s outlook. (The Bush Administration suspected, among other things, that Iranian fundamentalists, with the government’s approval, helped Osama bin Laden’s son across the border into Iran and were harboring him.)

As America prepared to attack Iraq, Iran wanted to be part of the planning and implementation to help quell subsequent sectarian violence and have some say in Iraq’s future. America dismissed the offer (instead branding Iran part of “the axis of evil,” spurring Iran, defensively, to play silent partner to Iraq’s new Shiite-dominated government instead. That in turn scared American allies like Egypt into supporting Iraqi Sunni insurgents to help counterbalance the Shiite forces.

As Iraq violence escalated, Iranian reformers, perhaps with the tacit nod of hard-line leaders, tried offering through back channels a “grand bargain” with America to work together in Iraq and ease Middle East tensions generally. Their offer was ignored. That undermined and sidelined the reformers, paving the way for the populist Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s rise to the presidency.

Since then the U.S. and Iran have dug in their heels on nuclear and strategic issues. And the rhetoric is worrisome.

“You will not find a single instance in which a country has inflicted harm on us and we have left it without a response,” says Mohammad Jafari, deputy head of Iran’s National Security Council, in what Frontline says is his first TV interview. “So if the United States makes such a mistake, they should know that we will definitely respond.”

Former American U.N. Ambassador John Bolton tells Frontline: “The president has said repeatedly that it is unacceptable for Iran to have nuclear weapons. If action is not taken in terms of regime change or, if need be, the use of military force, the question of when Iran achieves nuclear weapons is entirely in Iran’s own hands. And that is extraordinarily undesirable.”

“As risky and unattractive as it is,” Bolton says, “the use of force would put time back on our side.”

Frontline takes pains to give the Bush administration’s side of the story – primarily through interviews with Bolton and former Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armitage. But the unmistakable thrust of the tale it lays out – put most articulately by former National Security Council official Flynt Leverett and Tufts and Harvard professor Vali Nasr – is that had the U.S. managed post-invasion Iraq well, it would have succeeded in its goal of establishing a model democracy in the region that would have destabilized Iran’s hard-line regime. Instead, it overplayed its hand and strengthened Iran’s position as an international player, leaving America in the position, at one point, of diplomatic supplicant before an Iranian official whom it had recently tried to capture in military raids.

Leverett says of the administration’s regional democracy-promotion view of the Iraq invasion: “It was a nice idea completely out of touch with the way Iranian society and politics work, fundamentally rooted in ignorance about the region.” One aspect among too many that the U.S. failed to foresee was the Iranian Shiite identification with Shiites in Iraq despite the longstanding nationalistic enmity between the two countries.

A point of consensus from just about everyone Frontline talks to is that the current game of chicken between the U.S. and Iran is an explosive one. Nasr says, “There’s a threshold when this kind of an indirect game of cat and mouse will become an outright direct confrontation.”

If and when that happens, experts suggest, it will involve U.S. air strikes (including bunker-busting weapons to get at underground facilities) targeting nuclear facilities and revolutionary-guard training camps. While the Iranians boast of their ability to strike Israel, the most immediate response, experts say, would likely be stepping up support for Shiite militias in Iraq, making today’s chaos look restful in comparison.

“The only reason I can see that you would suddenly advocate going ahead right now [with a U.S. strike against Iran] is if you become obsessed by computer war games and you’ve forgotten there are real people somewhere outside the computer,” says Anthony Cordesman, of the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

“It would be the worst of worlds for an outgoing administration to start a conflict,” says Armitage.

But Iran’s former Vice President Mohammad Ali Abtahi, a reformist, encapsulates the program’s grim mood when he says: “Relations between Iran and America won’t get better any time soon. Leaders in both countries don’t just see themselves as politicians; they also see themselves as carrying out the work of God. They’ve left the ground a bit. And that’s very dangerous for the world.”

-Alexander C. Kafka

2007-10-20T21:07:00.000-04:00

. . . FASHION WIRE . . .

Tiffany's three-year-old pearl retailer, Iridesse, is presenting its cruise-season and holiday collections.

First the cruise collection. Prices of items shown here range from $50, for the 18-inch cultured freshwater white, purple, and peach oval pearl strand (first in the slide show below) to $8,975 for Anthony Nak's cultured Tahitian and cultured freshwater pearl necklace in 18-carat gold (Number 4).

The Holiday Collection forecasts snowy-white celebrations with prices among items shown here ranging from the $100 cultured freshwater pearl "edge" chain necklace, in sterling marquee drop earings (second in the slide show below) to $575 for the cultured South Sea and freshwater pearl with silver necklace (first in the slide show).

________________________________
Diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but best friends can be so fickle and demanding. Sometimes what's best are a couple really good friends. Thus if Mr. Right hasn't come along, or has but is hunkered down in his office or gulping electrolytes on the tennis court instead of paying proper attention to you, pay attention to yourself. Charles & Colvard says that's what the majority of its Moissanite customers do. "Seventy-nine percent of Moissanite buyers are women, with 71 percent of those women buying the jewel for themselves," the company reports.

Moissanite is a manmade gemstone of silicon and carbon with two and a half times the brilliance of diamonds and more luster. Another statistic that might interest you is that, per carat, it costs roughly one-ninth what a diamond does. Most items are in the $500 to $2,500 range, the company says.

Pictured here are the martini stud earrings . . .

. . . FASHION WIRE . . .

BODY SENSE: Primed for the Slopes

2007-10-17T15:58:00.000-04:00

Well into fall, even if it’s a warm fall, it’s at least dimly imaginable that in a couple months you’ll be back on the slopes. But while your mind can imagine it, can your body? Are your back, thighs, knees, and Achilles ready for that first mogul jolt? Are your core and arms ready for the quick pivot, the reflexive yank of the stuck pole that’s got it in for your shoulder if you aren’t alert and ready? Are your lungs and heart primed for the endurance you’ll need on that long descent from the bowl you’ve been dreaming of since last February?

If so, hallelujah. Keep up the good work. If not, fear not. You still have time -- and Body Sense asked a group of experts how best to use that time. The details varied but the consensus was overwhelming -- combine endurance, strength (particularly core strength), balance, and stretching exercises.

Benjamin Roman, clinical services manager at Columbia Eastside Sports Therapy in New York City, says that general cardiovascular fitness will help with endurance and adapting to the cold and the altitude. Running, cycling, or aerobics three times weekly for at least 20 to 30 minutes a session should do it.

Rachel Moscarella, snow safety director and a 20-year ski-patrol veteran at Taos Ski Valley, underlines the merits of getting outside that gym.

“Run on steep, rocky, uneven terrain,” she says. “The rugged terrain makes you pay attention to body movements and foot placement, while keeping boredom at bay -- always a threat to any workout regime. The hamstrings get a solid workout on the climbs, while foot and ankle strength increases due to the rough surface cover.

“Mountain Biking is a nice complement to running because it gives an intense and focused workout to the quads. An unexpected benefit of mountain biking occurs during descent. Biking down narrow trails with trees forces the focus on the openings between the obstacles -- a necessary and perhaps life-saving skill for skiing the trees.”

For increasing both strength and endurance in the lower body, Roman recommends mixing up your set and rep combinations of squats, lunges, step-ups and step-downs, and plyometrics that mimic the motions of skiing. Increase your volume through the fall to help decrease your susceptibility to injury late in the ski day when fatigue has set in, he says.

Sandy Shafer, Advantage Master Trainer at the Sports Club/LA, incorporates into his leg regimens a series of squats, lunges, pivots, and jumps (sometimes with both legs, sometimes alternating between two and one hop-scotch style).

Jason Nielson, an orthopedic surgeon in Las Vegas, emphasizes the importance of those thigh workouts. Thighs, he says, “take the brunt of the strain in a downhill position.” Quad sets, squats, wall squats, and extension curls should be the meat and potatoes of your gym regimen between now and the lift line, he says. And cycling, particularly if you can get up into some mountains to do it, is doubly beneficial, getting at the quads but building your endurance too.

For poling and protection against injury in falls, Roman suggests resistance training, including push-ups, pull-ups, and triceps extensions.

“Skiing can become a full body sport when the terrain and conditions become more extreme,” reminds Taos’s Moscarella. “Think breakable crust or thigh-deep heavy powder and you have just clicked out of a binding. To build core strength and upper body strength, do chin-ups. Grip the bar with palms facing you -- this allows for full engagement of forearms, upper arms, shoulders, lats, and even abdominal muscles. If you can't lift your full body weight at first, have a helper give you a boost.”

About that core, crunches are great, says Roman, but don’t forget the rotational core exercises, adding resistance with a medicine ball, elastic bands, or light weights.

Moscarella recommends working some of that core-upper combo exercise between your pull-up sets. “Do 20 push-ups. Girl push-ups with your knees on the floor are OK to start, but try to build up to doing all regulation push-ups,” she advises. “Do all different kinds, like diamond push-ups, push-ups with your feet on a bench, with one hand further forward than the other, planks where you just hold yourself a few inches off the floor for several seconds then push up to start position and hold yourself there, and tricep push-ups with your elbows tucked in to your sides.”

And, Roman says, “no skiing conditioning program would be complete without proprioception exercises for balance. Many of the lower-body strengthening exercises referenced above will help improve balance. You can increase this effect by adding an element of instability to an existing exercise, such as performing a squat on a foam pad. Various products like wobble boards can also be incorporated.”

A.J. Mihrzad, CEO of Bright Lion Fitness in Fresh Meadows, New York, urges focusing on the abs, hip flexors, lower back, and glutes. A stability/exercise ball is ideal for these, he says. Then use it instead of a chair when you're sitting for long periods at the office or watching TV. (You don't always have to sweat to exercise.)

Lorin Paley, a 15-year-old alpine and telemark racer training with the Steamboat Sprints Winter Sports Club in Colorado, reminds us that preparation isn’t just about what you do with your body, but also what you feed it. Concentrate on protein, iron, and calcium, with meats, beans, and green leafy veggies, says Paley. To prepare for rapid recovery, she takes Nordic Natural Fish Oil supplements and goes on walks to flush lactic acid.

Why should I take advice from a 15-year-old? you ask. Because she has a silver medal and second overall in the Women’s Elite Division of the U.S. Telemark National Championships, and, well, you and I don't. She's also a competitive swimmer, tennis player, and hunter.

With all that brawny stuff, don’t forget to stay limber, Paley says, with stretching and foam rollers to elongate muscles.

Says Moscarella: “Every skier should do a yoga class weekly. Stretching the muscles you are building during every other workout keeps you from pulling muscles when you ski (or run, or ride). It is great for your balance and core strength and is less impact on your body than a lot of the other workouts. But mostly, increased flexibility leads to fewer injuries.”

Finally, when your body’s tuned up, don’t neglect your mind.

“Laser-like mental focus is important on or off the slope,” says Mihrzad. “Motivation plays a large role in staying persistent in any exercise program. Having a clear mind prior to a day of skiing will greatly improve your performance and decrease your chance of injury. I recommend practicing slow breathing exercises to relax the body and heighten your sense of awareness. Take a few minutes to visualize yourself successfully skiing before you head down the peak. Meditation is a great way to clear unnecessary thoughts and to mentally rehearse your stride down the mountain.”

“Visualize yourself doing the perfect turn,” says Paley. “‘Feel yourself doing the turn.”

Well, the experts have done their part. Now it’s up to you. Tighten those boots. Strap on those poles. Adjust your goggles and helmet. And bon ski!

-Alexander C. Kafka

2007-10-17T15:22:00.000-04:00

Andrea Metcalf, of www.mbcfitness.com in Chicago, recommends these five exercises to get you to that black-diamond piste:

1. Hamstring triple threats: Lift hips with legs extended, and curl exercise ball toward hips.

2. Power lunges: Start in forward lunge position, push off both legs to opposite stance, and repeat. Builds quads, glutes, and hamstrings.

3. Power skaters: Start with one knee lifted, hop to the other side and reach toward the ground. Builds lateral stabilizers and quads.

4. Mogul push: Jump from side to side, maintaining balance on landing and holding for two counts before pushing off to the other side. Use a medicine ball for weight to drop over each hip as you land. Develops core and quad control.

5. Single leg stand-up: Lift one leg while seated and hold it while you push up to a stand. Return the leg to the floor before sitting. Develops quads and helps protect knees.

2007-10-17T14:45:00.000-04:00

Sh*t Happens,
But Injuries Don't Have to Mean
The End of Your Ski Life

Stay in shape, stretch, train, eat right, be cautious, and guess what -- injuries still happen sometimes, as Steven Cohn, of Bethesda, Md., found out a few years ago skiing at Whitetail in Pennsylvania.

“I was carving turns down the mountain,” he recalls. “I was pleased about the natural, fresh snow, my body’s performance and ski equipment. Suddenly, my forward visibility was limited by the rapid decent of the terrain before me. I was airborne. Not a problem. However, in direct line of my landing stood three young ladies … chatting (probably about their cell-phone reception) in the middle of the trail.”

Among the thoughts that flashed through his mind, Cohn says, were “What the #*?!” and “avoidance mid-flight maneuver.”

“I tried the later,” he says. “My landing was harder than anticipated. My left leg (downhill) didn’t get the message and didn’t hold its edge. I fell forward and toward my left. My bindings didn’t release and I felt and heard two distinct pops in my left knee. Ouch! [Deleted expletives.] That was special! I was dragged off the mountain and given an ice pack. After being asked to sign liability release forms ... I got in my car and my wife drove me home.

“The following morning I visited the neighborhood hospital. The physicians confirmed my diagnosis of a torn anterior crucial ligament (ACL). The next week was spent obtaining second-through-seventh opinions. Some physicians advised to learn to live with a locking knee or a knee that had unlimited swiveling capabilities. Some advised me to wear a knee brace. However, without surgery there would be no more skiing. Others said they could operate and rebuild the joint. I’m an active guy and wanted to ski again.”

Cohn found Mark Danziger through word of mouth. He had successfully operated on several of Cohn’s friends and thousands of other knees. Cohn researched Danziger’s credentials and performance history on the Web and found him highly recommended.

Cohn decided that Danziger was “the man I wanted to rebuild my knee.”

Danziger gave Cohn the choice between replacing the ACL with a cadaver ligament and harvesting a ligament from Cohn’s patella tendon.

“Both choices would be accompanied by a repair of a torn meniscus (soft cartilage in the knee joint),” recalls Cohn. “Both choices had their drawbacks. My body could reject a cadaver ligament and rejection meant a second surgery. The problem associated with harvesting was a longer rehabilitation. … Not wanting to risk a possible second surgery, I opted for a harvest.

“I’m 48 years old and 29 months post-surgery,” says Cohn. “I work-out five times a week, coach my daughter’s soccer team, and snow ski. My left leg is weaker than the right, but it doesn’t interfere with my activity.”

__________________

What the Knees Need

In skiing, says celebrity trainer Kathy Kaehler, "torn ligaments in the knee can happen at any time -- waiting in line for the lift, going downhill, standing still and someone running into you. ... However, you can strengthen ... with some exercises that target these specific areas."

She recommends:

1. The ski machine, to simulate downhill skiing right at home. You go back and forth holding poles, and can change the resistance as you get stronger.

2. The slide. You slide back and forth almost like a speed skater. Good for strengthening lateral movement.

3. Leg extension is also a great exercise to strengthen the quads that support the knee.

4. Core stabilization, to help you with balance and centering.

West River Sunrise: Photographs by Frances Borchardt

2007-10-15T20:50:00.000-04:00

Film in Focus

2007-10-15T11:59:00.000-04:00

The Seeker: The Dark Is Rising

Director: David L. Cunningham. Screenplay: John Hodge, based on a novel by Susan Cooper. Cinematography: Joel Ransom. Film editing: Geoffrey Rowland, Eric A. Sears. Production design: David Lee. Music: Christophe Beck. Producer: Marc E. Platt. With: Alexander Ludwig, Christopher Eccleston, Ian McShane, Frances Conroy, Wendy Crewson, Amelia Warner, Gregory Smith, James Cosmo, Jim Piddock, John Benjamin Hickey, Emma Lockhart, Drew Tyler Bell, Edmund Entin, Gary Entin, Jordan J. Dale. USA. 97 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

The premise is a tad simplistic even for the movie’s young target audience: The good forces are Light, the bad forces are Dark, and 14-year-old Will, who thought he was an ordinary kid, learns that he’s obligated to zip around the space-time continuum to make sure the goblins of gloom don’t extinguish the human race. An awesome responsibility, you say? Will isn’t fazed for long. Why, his dad wrote a thesis on this very subject, and hey, there isn’t that much to do in England, where his American family has moved for reasons more plotty than commonsensical.

It’s the opposite of a secret that Susan Cooper was a very unhappy author when she realized what the filmmakers were doing to her youth-market novel, and they certainly have scrambled her franchise’s formula, from upping Will’s age to thumbtacking extra words (“The Seeker”) onto the title of her second installment, which is the basis for the picture. Civilian moviegoers won’t much care, though, and on its own terms the film is reasonably good fun, with a couple of amusing performances and a generally lively mood. I hasten to add that on its own terms the story doesn’t make a single bit of sense, especially at the end, which is uproariously absurd. Could this be the work of Dark, powerful enough to resist the brightness of a projector lamp? Hmmmm……….

Film in Focus

2007-10-14T13:48:00.001-04:00

We Own the Night

Director: James Gray. Screenplay: James Gray. Cinematography: Joaquin Baca-Asay. Film editing: John Axelrad. Production design: Ford Wheeler. Music: Wojciech Kilar. Producers: Marc Butan, Joaquin Phoenix, Mark Wahlberg, Robert Duvall, Nick Wechsler. With: Joaquin Phoenix, Mark Wahlberg, Eva Mendes, Alex Veadov, Tony Musante, Danny Hoch, Oleg Taktarov, Dominic Colon, Elena Solovey, Moni Moshonov, Maggie Kiley, Paul Herman, Antoni Corone, Craig Walker, Claudia Lopez, Kate Condidorio, Edward Shkolnikov, Scott Nicholson, Robert Kirk, Fred Burrell, Luigi Scorcia, Doug Torres, Tony Guida, Patrick M. Walsh, Coati Mundi, Ed Koch. USA. Languages: English, Russian. 116 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

The title comes from a police-department slogan, but the main character is Bobby, an upwardly mobile scofflaw (Joaquin Phoenix) who runs a New York nightclub where he hangs out with his girlfriend (Eva Mendes) while hosting a Russian drug kingpin (Alex Veadov) and other unsavory clients. The last thing he wants his felonious friends to find out is that he comes from a family of cops, with a high-ranking father (Robert Duvall) and a brother (Mark Wahlberg) who’s rising fast. These two confront Bobby and demand his cooperation in busting the kingpin. A couple of plot twists later he agrees, and therein lies the tale.

I see nothing positive in the current fashion for bashing people from Eastern Europe and environs. James Gray makes this something of a specialty, with “Little Odessa” among the three pictures he’s written and directed to date. David Cronenberg joined in with “Eastern Promises,” and like that disappointingly unimaginative melodrama, “We Own the Night” is basically an old-fashioned Mafia movie with different accents. The acting is consistently solid—not surprising, given the consistently solid cast—and there are some riveting set pieces, most notably a harrowing car chase in a driving rainstorm. But there are unexciting stretches too, and the finale is an inexcusably long indulgence in sentimental hooey, perhaps aimed at making us think the movie isn’t bashing Russians after all. Leave fifteen minutes before this and you’ll have a reasonably diverting time.

Men's Fashion Notes: Class Warfare

2007-10-14T09:54:00.000-04:00

"Much of the pleasure of reading The Big Black Book is derived from being reminded that not everyone works in IT. That is, there are still people like designer Taavo Somer and tailor Martin Greenfield who make vintage suits from dead-stock wool circa 40s and 50s."

Esquire's second annual edition of The Big Black Book: The Style Manual for Successful Men should come with a warning label: Devout Marxists, or even emotional neoliberals, should not read this, for it has been known to cause high blood pressure and, in some instances, serious heart attacks.

Then again, perhaps the welfare of leftists is not utmost in the minds of those who, in the words of editor in chief David Granger, seek to help define "that fine line between pursuing quality and indulging in extravagance." For, as you'll no doubt be shocked to discover, quality, as defined in this context, is extravagant, and, in matters such as purchasing time on private jets or arranging for custom shoe manufacture with exotic animal skins, the material here is to politically correct as Dick Cheney is to Al Gore, or as he is now known, Saint Albert.

Yet, in that same note from Granger, there are clues that the sharp minds at Esquire are well aware that many readers will be more of the Syms educated consumer variety than the Gordon Gekko variety. Leave aside that the paperback version of the Big Black Book is red ("Yes, We Know It's Red," the cover notes, pre-empting wisenheimers everywhere). "For the most part," Granger writes, "we grew up in homes where someone worked hard to provide a living, and most of us had either parents or grandparents who believed in one of the defining character traits of the last century: thrift." Could secret Hearst marketing studies locked in an undisclosed location indicate that at least a sizable portion of the Big Black Book's readership remains in such homes? That there are schmos like me peering through the glass at the kind of folks who will spend their next spare $2,450 on a deerskin bag rather than dividing it between their kids' 529 college funds but who will, at the end of the day, be slipping that check to CollegeBoundFund in their declasse cuckoo-style mail boxes? I suspect they do know that.

And it is rationalizing thusly that I leaned back and thoroughly enjoyed this stylish, clever, well-researched, and sumptuous catalogue of dearly-obtainable objects.

The good-life gurus ease us in slowly with the at least faintly plausible Hogan leather bomber jacket ($1,590) and the $1,295 Gucci wing-tip shoes. Those are both among "The Essentials." And here I thought the essentials were my $45 loafers from DSW and my 15-year-old Members Only jacket that my wife is (I'm on to you, honey) secretly planning to give to a shelter next time I leave town (she calls it my "Walter Matthau jacket"). The $998 Moncler down jacket looks mighty cozy, except for that pesky global warming thing that had our a/c buzzing well into October.

A $615 Meisterstuck 149 gold-plated black resin fountain pen from Mont Blanc ($615)? Unlikely, though fountain pens are the kind of pretension I'm susceptible to, but duly noted ware for either the starchy villain or eccentric hero of my next (i.e., first) mystery novel. ("Unfazed, Herr Strechen uncapped his Meisterstuck and glibly fingered its golden nib. It was then, with a cold shiver, that Samantha realized her fate was sealed.") Should Herr Strechen wear a wool "killer suit" from Kilgour ($1,790)? Perhaps a silk Gucci pocket square ($110)?

Much of the pleasure of reading The Big Black Book is derived from being reminded that not everyone works in IT. That is, there are still people like designer Taavo Somer and tailor Martin Greenfield who make vintage suits from dead-stock wool circa 40s and 50s. Or Marcus Wainwright and Nathan Bogle, English transplants to New York who make jeans from denim produced on antique shuttle looms. Or the 83-year-old Belstaff, of England, reproducing the waxed-cotton motorcycle jacket favored by Steve McQueen. "Rumor has it that" he once "passed up a night with his then-girlfriend, Ali MacGraw" the book informs us, "to stay in and wax his Belstaff. This was not a euphemism."

I enjoyed reading the history of the little suit and the pictorial time line tracing its lineage from Harold Lloyd, through Benjamin Braddock, Mick Jagger, Elvis Costello, and Pee-wee Herman.

I'm not the type of guy who could, with a straight face, wear the handsome stallion-profile ring by David Yurman, but it's something to aspire to, I realize looking at the characteristically splendid photo from Lendon Flanagan. That's in a section called "The Little Things," which also ties vintage to voltage with luxuriously arrayed collections grouping, for instance, a $125 Yves Saint Laurent leather bracelet with a Motorazr V3i phone from Motorola ($290). I was enjoying the fantasy until I got to the $3,200 Ralph Lauren Purple Label alligator-leather mouse pad. Note to HR: Any partner using one of these is clearly embezzling.

"The Long Road" features a fun little essay on the how and where of cashmere production. "The Leather" is an understatedly fetishistic romp through shoes, gloves, and wallets made from a range of hides, from the customary calf, to the eyebrow-raising goat, Russian reindeer, ostrich, and peccary (a cousin of the wild boar), to the hair-raising lizard, stingray, python, and crocodile.

Items get heavier mid-book. The Land Rover Defender 110 (from $39,365) looks far more useful and considerably less objectionable than the Hummer you might see strutting down Deer Park Ave. in North Babylon, Long Island, as long as you leave off the purple underlights. And the Ford Focus ST ($36,247) looks downright sensible. Is it in the wrong publication? Ah, there's the catch--you can only get it in Europe, so there's that little add-on. The Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione ($184,289) is truly drool-inducing, and I say that as a fella not unduly taken with automobiles. I think I'll have Herr Strechen's embittered wife--Gerthe, I'll call her--drive one to Dresden. ("As she revved its 4.7-liter V-8 she experienced a sweet sixth-speed torque that gave her all the pleasures unavailable from her domineering orchid-obsessed spouse.")

The eco-resort in the Maldives looks way too laid back for the Stechens ($540 a night off-peak), but let's have them fly--shall we?--on an eight-passenger Dassault Falcon 2000 ($25 million).

I'm taken with the Grande Chronomaster Open XXT watch by Zenith ($21,500), but fear it won't cope as well with sweat and sunscreen on my jogs as my Timex sports watch ($35, Sports Authority).

"The Bespoke Life" clues us off-the-wrack guys into the tailored world, and the distinctions involved in peaked lapels, shrunken suits (sorry, Pee-wee, but it still looks a little confining, however mod), and so on. The hunting themed outdoor-wear spread is a bit pushy--surely one might want Wellington Boots without the double-barrelled accessory. But the etiquette and history behind various full-length coats (Chesterfield, evening, tweed, and so on) is illuminating.

Even the Marxist might secretively skip to Page 153, for "The Information" section has valuable guidance on matters like organizing closets, folding shirts, tying shoes (straight laced vs. crisscross vs. over-under), hand care and foot massage (oh come on, you know you care about the former even if you won't confess to desiring the latter), Dopp kit organization, barber terms (thinned out, layered, choppy, razored, texturized), the removal of both body hair (a mercifully laissez-faire approach) and stains (I paid special attention to that one, given my sad history with sauces, dips, toothpastes, and infant spitup of all kinds).

Keep near to you the handy guide on mixing suit-tie-shirt patterns; distinguishing between natural, roped, and padded jacket shoulders; the subtle variations between the Windsor, half Windsor, four-in-hand, and Pratt tie knots; and textile patterns (windowpane, houndstooth, bird's-eye, etc.)

The "6 Drinks Every Man Should Master" is also helpful, but while I'll buy the dry martini, old-fashioned, hot whisky toddy, and possibly even the Hemingway daiquiri, when was the last time a dinner guest demanded unconditionally a Paloma or a caipirinha? Maybe the idea is that you're supposed to be the kind of man to introduce the guest to these treats? I am not that kind of man, and if you want a caipirinha, you'll have to go elsewhere because I'm fresh out of cachaca.

The diplomatic Marxist might assess this year's Big Black Book using its own Page 204 guide on noncommital compliments. "You've done it again!" "What can I say? It's really, really something."

But I'll take a tip from the "How to Negotiate a Party" box, make my way to the sofa ("Choose the middle . . . you'll look more social"), sip my fall-appropriate toddy, and say with designer-desire-drunk faux-reactionary zeal, "Good show, old boys."

-Alexander C. Kafka

Film in Focus

2007-10-13T16:04:00.000-04:00

Elizabeth: The Golden Age

Director: Shekhar Kapur. Screenplay: William Nicholson, Michael Hirst. Cinematography: Remi Adefarasin. Film editing: Jill Bilcock, Andrew Haddock. Production design: Guy Dyas. Music: Craig Armstrong, A.R. Rahman. Producers: Tim Bevan, Jonathan Cavendish, Eric Fellner. With: Cate Blanchett, Clive Owen, Geoffrey Rush, Samantha Morton, Abbie Cornish, Rhys Ifans, Jordi Mollà, John Shrapnel, Susan Lynch, Penelope McGhie, Robert Cambrinus, Eddie Redmayne, Adrian Scarborough, William Houston, Steven Loton, Martin Baron, Steven Robertson, Tim Preece, Jeremy Barker, George Innes, Adam Godley, Kirsten Coulter Smith, Kelly Hunter, Christian Brassington, Tom Hollander, David Threlfall, David Robb. UK/France. 113 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

Cate Blanchett first played the Virgin Queen in the 1998 costumer “Elizabeth,” which also featured Geoffrey Rush as Sir Francis Walsingham, her aristocratic henchman. Both are back, along with director Shekhar Kapur and cinematographer Remi Adefarasin, for this unofficial sequel, which picks up roughly where the earlier film—about the rise of Elizabeth I to the English throne and the early period of her sovereignty--left off. The main storylines involve the growing hatred of her Protestant reign by King Philip II of Spain, a staunchly Roman Catholic ruler; the tensions between Elizabeth and the imprisoned Mary Stuart, a k a Mary, Queen of Scots, regarded by some as England’s rightful monarch and possibly linked to an assassination scheme that Sir Francis defeats with unintended and unwelcome consequences; and the Queen’s crush on Sir Walter Raleigh, who’s returned from the Americas with Indians and tobacco to show off.

Kapur has become a director of strong imagination and great technical panache. Returning here to a subject he knows well, he parlays a string of vivid performances, plus powerful support from Adefarasin’s camerawork and razor-sharp film editing, into a picture containing little in the way of realism but a great deal in the way of Hollywood-style splendor and motion-picture mythmaking. Blanchett is genuinely regal as the eponymous heroine and Rush is exactly right as Walsingham, cruel and calculating in one scene, proffering heartfelt repentance to his monarch in another. Clive Owen is generally persuasive as Sir Walter, although his handsome looks and alluring demeanor are too picture-perfect to be quite credible. Also first-rate are Abbie Cornish as Bess, a lady-in-waiting who abuses her royal namesake’s confidence without really meaning to; Jordi Mollà as King Philip, a mostly unsympathetic sort whose grief at the destruction of the Spanish Armada is unexpectedly real and touching; and most of all Samantha Morton as Mary Stuart, who becomes a strikingly complex character despite the very limited screen time Morton has to work her magic.

The history set forth in the screenplay by William Nicholson and Michael Hirst is no more trustworthy than that of most cinematic extravaganzas with period themes, although Hirst is something of a specialist, having scripted the “Elizabeth” of 1998 and other historical dramas. (The routing of the Armada is downright bogus, drenched in action-movie clichés.) Nor need we take the story’s personal psychology as particularly true or perceptive; the Queen’s role in this epic is to be queenly, aside from a few moments of movie-type emotionality, mostly connected with Sir Walter’s presence or absence. Veracity and psychology aren’t the points in a picture that unabashedly values spectacle and momentum above all else. These it delivers in an abundance that would have pleased Her Majesty herself. It should please many moviegoers too.

Film in Focus

2007-10-12T18:44:00.001-04:00

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

Director: Andrew Dominik. Screenplay: Andrew Dominik, based on the novel by Ron Hanson. Cinematography: Roger Deakins. Film editing: Curtiss Clayton, Dylan Tichenor. Production design: Patricia Norris. Music: Nick Cave, Warren Ellis. Producers: Jules Daly, Dede Gardner, Brad Pitt, Ridley Scott, David Valdes. With: Brad Pitt, Casey Affleck, Sam Rockwell, Paul Schneider, Sam Shepard, Jeremy Renner, Mary-Louise Parker, James Carville, Zooey Deschanel, Kailin See, Garret Dillahunt, Brooklynn Proulx, Dustin Bollinger, Tom Aldredge, Martha Bolton, Lauren Calvert, Jesse Frechette, Pat Healy, Michael Parks, Ted Levine, Michael Copeman, Laryssa Yanchak, voice of Hugh Ross. USA. 158 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

The title tells all, before the movie even starts. Dispensing with standard narrative suspense is just one of many artistic coups that make this arguably the best western since Robert Altman’s classic “McCabe & Mrs. Miller” way back in 1971.

In place of ordinary suspense, writer-director Andrew Dominik offers enormous amounts of narrative tension, which builds to multiple climaxes in individual scenes while gathering strength for a rich culmination shortly before the finale, followed by a denouement of great and melancholy power. The result is simultaneously an engrossing genre piece, a sensitive psychological study—the title characters aren’t the only ones with complex and contradictory personalities that eventually do them in—and, most surprisingly, an exploration of celebrity culture as practiced a century ago, revolving around Robert Ford’s romantic view of the outlaw who becomes his friend and then his foe while remaining his enigmatic ego ideal throughout.

Roger Deakins has been one of Hollywood’s most expressive cinematographers for decades, and his work here is unsurpassed, capturing the look and feel of the Old West with a warmth and vividness that few films have equaled since John Ford’s glory days. But both Dominik and Deakins have to share credit with an enormously talented cast. Brad Pitt gives an authentic, three-dimensional performance as Jesse James, and Casey Affleck is a revelation as Ford the so-called coward, projecting a strikingly curious persona that combines the doggedness of a dullard, the naïveté of a child, the subservience of a sycophant, and the thinly veiled wiliness of an utterly amoral scoundrel. Affleck’s performance here, paired with his riveting work in Ben Affleck’s savvy melodrama “Gone Baby Gone,” which premiered at virtually the same time, marks his emergence as one of the most gifted character actors in film today. (Full disclosure: Casey was a student of mine at Columbia University, and I like to think I taught him every single thing he knows. As if.)

Nor does the excellent acting stop with the leads. Sam Shepard is pitch-perfect in the very small role of Jesse’s brother Frank James; Sam Rockwell is ditto as Robert’s brother Charley Ford; Paul Schneider steals several scenes as another outlaw; and so on, all the way to Mary-Louise Parker and Zooey Deschanel, whose appearances in very small parts bespeaks the production’s perceptive attention to the story’s active margins as well as its centers of gravity. A special nod also goes to James Carville, the celebrated political consultant, who plays a wheeling-and-dealing governor here; we knew he could mold performances, and now he shows he can carry one off as well.

Some critics have predictably attacked the picture for being mannered and arty, charges I anticipated before I’d finished watching it. All this means is that Dominik’s ingenious blend of narrative realism and daring visual poetry, staking out a cinematic zone about midway between classicism and modernism, is too much for some spectators (including professional ones) to take in. Don’t make their mistake. Expect the unusual, settle into the movie’s unhurried sense of time, and look for character-based epiphanies rather than explosive bursts of violent action. You’ll have one of the most memorable film experiences of recent times.

JONATHAN RAUCH: Right Vote. Wrong President.

2007-10-12T11:57:00.000-04:00

"I was wrong. Like most Americans, I have long since come to believe that the Iraq war was a strategic mistake -- with luck. (Without luck, it will be a strategic calamity.) But let me also say what I was wrong about."

By Jonathan Rauch
National Journal

Five years ago, Congress and President Bush made the most consequential and, as now seems more likely than not, unfortunate decision of this country's still young century. On October 16, 2002, Bush signed a resolution authorizing the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Should war supporters apologize?

Democrats certainly think so. In the five years since then, many of them have said "I told you so" -- many more, in fact, than told us so. In a recent paper, Gary C. Jacobson, a political scientist at the University of California (San Diego), unearthed figures suggesting that some Democrats have edited their memories. Before the U.S. invasion of Iraq, 46 percent of them favored the war, according to an average of a dozen surveys. In 2006, only 21 percent of them said they had favored the war. Hmm. Do the math.

Those 25 percent of Democrats who were for the war until they had always been against it were probably not dissembling. They were just being human. "Memory is a self-justifying historian," says Carol Tavris, a social psychologist and a co-author (with Elliot Aronson) of the recent book Mistakes Were Made (but Not by Me): Why We Justify Foolish Beliefs, Bad Decisions, and Hurtful Acts. "Our memories are a better indication of what we believe and how we see ourselves today than of what actually happened."

I believe her, because I was not above a little memory repair myself. Recently, after a book review of mine appeared in The Washington Post, an angry reader wrote, "It will come as no surprise that Rauch was an advocate of invading Iraq." Who, me? I recalled myself as an agonized fence-sitter, more anti-anti-war than pro-war (an important distinction, you understand), maybe marginally in favor but more worried than convinced.

Just double-checking, I reread my columns from the period and promptly found one, from February 2004, in which I described myself as an, er, "advocate of the war." Gee. Imagine that.

So let me say for the record: I was wrong. Like most Americans, I have long since come to believe that the Iraq war was a strategic mistake -- with luck. (Without luck, it will be a strategic calamity.) But let me also say what I was wrong about.

In that February 2004 article, I called the war a "justified mistake." When a cop shoots a robber who has murdered in the past and who brandishes what looks like a gun, we blame the robber, not the cop -- even if it turns out that the robber was brandishing a toy or a cellphone. The robber was asking for it, and so was Saddam Hussein.

That answer, although still reasonable, no longer seems as convincing. Since 2004, it has become clearer that the Bush administration's prewar hype portrayed the intelligence on Saddam's alleged weapons of mass destruction as solider and starker than it really was. Not enough people, including people in the media, asked enough hard questions. I should have been more skeptical of the WMD hard sell. That was mistake No. 1.

Mistake No. 2 was forgetting the difference between experts and poseurs. Over the past few years, it has become clearer that the hazards of the U.S. occupation of Iraq were not unforeseeable. In fact, quite a few people foresaw them. And warned about them. And went unheeded. Partly that was because the Bush administration wasn't interested, but partly it was because a lot of us in the media gave a lot of ink and airtime to pontificators who had never been to Iraq, who had never fought in a war or served in an embassy or worked on a reconstruction team, and who did not know Iraq's language, culture, people, leaders, history, or region. Other than that, they were experts.

In 2002 and 2003, of course, there was no way of knowing which of countless forecasts and opinions would prove correct. The experts were divided; sometimes fresh-eyed amateurs see what jaded experts miss; the previous U.S. Iraq policy was no big success. All true. Still, the fact that so many of the war's sturdiest proponents were journalists and pundits -- in other words, hacks, like me -- should have rung more alarm bells. That was mistake No. 2.

Those, however, were small mistakes compared with the fundamental one. It was not, really, a mistake about the war at all. It was a mistake about the president.

Fool me twice, shame on me. In 1990, I was fooled once. In the prelude to the Persian Gulf War, I misjudged President George H.W. Bush. In those days, America's most resounding recent military triumphs had been against the Lilliputian forces of Panama and Grenada, against which weighed the 1975 defeat in Vietnam, the 1980 fiasco of Desert One (President Carter's failed hostage-rescue attempt in Iran), and the 1983 humiliation in Lebanon (where U.S. forces turned tail after losing more than 200 marines to a Hezbollah truck bomb). Saddam Hussein's forces looked formidable and well entrenched in 1990. The sandstorms looked forbidding. And President George H.W. Bush looked hapless. I opposed the war.

The U.S. military proved virtuosic, the Iraqi military proved worthless, the desert proved tractable, and, much the most important, the elder Bush proved dazzling. He marshaled an unprecedented coalition. He won decisively in hours. He quit while he was ahead. He even got other countries to pay. He should not have stood by as Saddam savagely put down postwar rebellions; but otherwise his performance was masterly, not least in its realism and restraint.

As I came to the 2002-2003 Iraq debate, I was determined not to make the same mistake twice. Another Bush was president, and the younger one looked as decisive as his father had once seemed dotty. This, after all, was the George W. Bush who had impressively rallied the nation and the world after September 11.

His foreign-policy team looked easily the equal of his father's, or anybody's. Vice President Cheney was the wise man of Washington and the elder Bush's successful defense secretary. Secretary of State Colin Powell was the magisterial architect of the Gulf War. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld was the man whose plan had worked like a charm in Afghanistan. If Condoleezza Rice, the national security adviser, was not the equal of her 1990 predecessor, Brent Scowcroft, she was no lightweight. Surely if any war Cabinet could inspire confidence, this was it.

Wrong again. Zero for two.

George W. Bush had more than his share of bad luck in Iraq. He bet that Saddam would have an active nuclear or at least biological-weapons program; that Iraq's social and physical infrastructure would be functional; that the war would be short. None of those bets was crazy, but he lost all three.

Still, a good gambler never bets more than he can afford to lose; he scrubs the odds with a sharp eye on the worst case; he hedges to give himself options. Above all, he keeps abreast of the game.

Bush placed too large a bet, padded the odds, and didn't hedge. Worst of all, he never caught up with the state of play. Again and again, he and his team were too slow in understanding and reacting to events, if they reacted at all. They were late to react to wholesale looting; late to understand the scale of the effort and to commit sufficient forces (arguably they still haven't); late to recognize they confronted an insurgency and to fight it with proven counterinsurgency tactics; late to recognize the emergence of a Shiite-Sunni civil war. Today, almost five years on, they are still behind the curve: As Senate Foreign Relations Chairman Joseph Biden, D-Del., plausibly argues, Bush clings to an insistence on a strong central government in Baghdad, despite that strategy's failure and signs that regionalism would work better.

Some optimists say that in Army Gen. David Petraeus, Bush has finally found his Gen. Grant. That may or may not be true, but it is beside the point. The problem is that Petraeus has not yet found his President Lincoln.

Judging presidents' wartime performance before the war starts is hard. No one could have known in 1860 that Lincoln, a lawyer and military novice, would develop into a commander-in-chief of genius. As lessons go, "Don't misjudge the president before committing to a war" is roughly as useful as "Buy low, sell high."

It does, however, provide some insight into the key mistake of five years ago. In February, asked for the umpteenth time to recant her war vote, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton, D-N.Y., for the umpteenth time refused. "The mistakes were made by the president," she said. In 2004, she said, "I do not regret giving the president authority. ... What I regret is the way the president used the authority."

She had a fair point. She might have sharpened it by saying what I have come to say: I do not regret giving the president authority; I regret giving this president authority. I am sorry. I made a mistake five years ago. But not about the vote. About the leader.

Film in Focus

2007-10-11T20:18:00.001-04:00

Kurt Cobain About a Son

Director: A.J. Schnack. Cinematography: Wyatt Troll. Film editing: A.J. Schnack. Music: Steve Fisk, Benjamin Gibbard. Producers: Chris Green, Noah Khoshbin, Shirley Moyers. With: voices of Kurt Cobain, Michael Azerrad. USA. 96 min. 2006.

This offbeat documentary tells rock star Kurt Cobain’s story by presenting excerpts from an interview he gave to journalist Michael Azerrad, who audiotaped more than twenty-five hours of material for a book he was preparing about Nirvana, the fabled Cobain band. The images on the screen are only vaguely related to the things Cobain says, providing poetic counterpoint rather than literal-minded illustration. Your fascination with the film--think “Koyaanisqatsi” with a Seattle beat--will be directly proportional to your fascination with Cobain himself. For dedicated fans it’s a unique and engrossing treasure trove. – David Sterritt

2007-10-10T22:16:00.000-04:00

The Late Ray
—in loving memory of Ray Lantos, 1924-2007

In his last years with Parkinson’s—
largely immobile—
he’d think he was waiting,
or, more often, late:
late to meet his residents for rounds,
late to get to the airport,
late for the wedding reception
or the sports banquet.
Always polite, but,
you see,
always some other place
he really should be.

We suspect this comforted him.
We know it comforted us.
For surely the Hebrew Home,
and the hospital bed, and the wheelchair,
and the TV lounge,
and the hot little dining room,
were not where he
was meant to be.

The close air.
Good thing
he wasn’t there.
His funeral at Arlington
went like clockwork.
Elegant. Efficient.
Stately in its slow rapidity.
Right.
On time.

I don’t believe in afterlives.
And afterward, early lives meekly retreat.
“If you throw that, I pity your soul,”
he told a would-be snowball assailant
who’d threatened Ray’s little brother.
Was that an initial glimpse
of Ray’s, among all the pitied souls,
on Normandy little more than a decade later?
Childhood shrinks
before the adulthood it births.
Then adulthood shrinks
before the bewildered octogenarian schoolchildren.

Existence is a droopy dreidl.

Ray’s memories and appointments
were kept, like words,
to himself, for others.

The thrice purple-hearted heart specialist
was disinterested in guns.
He had great luck, and awful—
trading the European theater for Broadway,
Omaha Beach for Ogunquit
or the dock at Thompson Lake.
He could do no worse.
He could do no better.

Reading a good biography
with unstroked eyes,
munching his beloved redskin peanuts,
watching a game on TV—
any game, mutedly triggering
his old championship high-school nerve tendrils—
sipping his martini—
Beefeater, dry, straight up.
Glass.
Chilled.
That’s where he is, I reckon.

When we visited,
he was just visiting—
considerate that way.

If we’ll excuse him,
he’s off now.
All is done.
Nothing’s left,
but the sweet rest—
long anticipated,
hard-won.

-Alexander C. Kafka

Film in Focus

2007-10-10T13:14:00.001-04:00

2 Days in Paris

Director: Julie Delpy. Screenplay: Julie Delpy. Cinematography: Lubomir Bakchev. Film editing: Julie Delpy. Art direction: Barbara Marc. Music: Julie Delpy. Producers: Christophe Mazodier, Thierry Potok. With: Julie Delpy, Adam Goldberg, Daniel Brühl, Marie Pillet, Albert Delpy, Aleksia Landeau, Adan Jodorowsky, Alex Nahon, Vanessa Seward, Thibault De Lussy, Sandra Berrebi, Arnaud Beunaiche, Claude Harold, Emma Piesse, Ludovic Berthillot. France/Germany. Languages: English, French. 110 min. 2007.

Julie Delpy is a quintuple threat in this romantic comedy—writing, directing, editing, composing the score, and doing a 110-minute Diane Keaton imitation, opposite the Woody Allen of Adam Goldberg, who’s afflicted with the same nervous dialogue, imaginary ailments, and relationship problems that the real Woody has been selling tickets with for decades.

The plot, such as it is, centers on a Frenchwoman paying a brief visit to her Parisian parents with her American boyfriend in tow; the humor, such as it is, comes from his edgy rapport with her echt French kinfolks and his gradual realization that her love life before meeting him was a lot more hot and hectic than she’s been letting on. There are some funny moments, often tucked into throwaway lines and gestures, and Delpy’s real-life parents are wonderful (especially Marie Pillet, her mother) as her fictional mère and père. The story almost gets interesting when Delpy’s character reveals occasional signs of real psychological instability, especially in a restaurant scene and an explosive verbal duel with a cab driver. But ultimately the picture’s ingredients don’t add up to very much; like a soufflé from the budget menu, it’s lightweight, pleasant, and forgettable. – David Sterritt

Vanderbilt Estate, Hyde Park Photographs by Frances Borchardt

2007-10-10T09:15:00.000-04:00

Film in Focus

2007-10-09T12:39:00.000-04:00

Feast of Love 9/28

Director: Robert Benton. Screenplay: Allison Burnett, based on the novel by Charles Baxter. Cinematography: Kramer Morgenthau. Film editing: Andrew Mondshein. Production design: Missy Stewart. Music: Stephen Trask. Producers: Gary Lucchesi, Tom Rosenberg. With: Morgan Freeman, Greg Kinnear, Radha Mitchell, Billy Burke, Selma Blair, Alexa Davalos, Toby Hemingway, Stana Katic, Jane Alexander, Fred Ward, Erika Marozsán, Margo Martindale, Missi Pyle, Shannon Lucio, Alex Mentzel, Julie Vhay. USA. 100 min. 2007.

Experiences of love, romance, and heartbreak circulate among a number of colorful characters who live separate lives in their modest Oregon community but are somehow united by their shared humanity. Sound familiar? So will the movie.

The cast is fine: Morgan Freeman and Jane Alexander as a lovable professor and his lovable wife; Greg Kinnear as a wistful businessman (Kinnear is tops at wistfulness, but enough already!) and Selma Blair as his estranged spouse; Radha Mitchell as a feisty real-estate agent and Billy Burke as her adulterous boyfriend; et cetera. Robert Benton is a capable director whose films rarely generate much dramatic excitement. Despite its promising performers, this one is as forgettable as any he’s made. – David Sterritt

PAUL LOEB: Pre-Empting an Iran War--Make Congress Take a Stand

2007-10-08T17:30:00.000-04:00

"The campaign against a new Iranian war doesn’t even have to demand agreement on Iran policy at all. It just has to reassert the right of Congress to be the final arbiter of whether or not we go to war."

By Paul Rogat Loeb

With the Senate embracing the reckless Kyl-Lieberman amendment, we’ve moved one step closer to attacking Iran. But there’s still time for Congress to assert itself against yet another needless war with massive destructive potential. By defining Iran’s Revolutionary Guards Corps, a core branch of the Iranian military, as a foreign terrorist organization, Kyl-Lieberman put the U.S. Senate on record as vindicating the Bush-Cheney line that Iranian proxies are part of a global conspiracy, linking Al Qaeda, Iraqi insurgents, Hamas, Hezbollah, and any other enemy the administration wants to list. The bill now makes it far easier for Bush to manufacture some Tonkin Gulf-style excuse, then use it to justify an attack. No wonder Senator Jim Webb called it Cheney’s fondest pipe dream.

But this vote also gives opponents of this astonishingly reckless path a chance to push back, and draw a line against a unilateral war. Last March, Senator Webb introduced Senate Bill 759, to prohibit military action against Iran without explicit Senate approval. The Foreign Relations Committee has bottled up Webb’s bill so far, but he’s working to move it to the floor, and although it’s not perfect (it does make an exception for “activities to directly thwart an imminent attack” that could be manipulated through false intelligence reports), it would still make a preemptive attack significantly harder. When the Senators voted for Kyl-Lieberman, most claimed, with echoes of Iraq, that they really weren’t giving Bush permission to go to war. Webb’s bill gives them a chance to back up their rationalizations with their votes.

This past July, Colorado Congressman Mark Udall introduced a companion measure, House Resolution 3119, with identical language. I’m suggesting they both go even further, to include a pledge to initiate or support impeachment proceedings if Bush initiated such an attack without explicit Congressional authorization. In the House, such a resolution wouldn’t even need Senate ratification (or overcoming a Republican filibuster or Bush veto), since the House can initiate impeachment proceedings on its own. While such a line-drawing Senate bill could be vetoed or filibustered, it can still assert a fundamental constitutional prerogative, with a commitment to follow through if Bush violated it.

You might see Lieberman-Kyl as an indication that bipartisan jingoism against Iran has reached such a fever pitch that none of this could happen. But if they hear from their angry grassroots base, the 28 Democratic Senators who voted for it just might start looking for a way to cover themselves politically, and distance themselves from the Bush-Cheney doctrine of reckless preemptive wars. Even co-sponsor Jon Kyl claimed “this is not intended to be an authorization of military force against Iran.” So with enough popular pressure, even Senators who just capitulated might turn and vote for a pre-emptive resolution reasserting that Bush is not the sole decider.

Not all the Democrats supported the Kyl-Lieberman, of course. Although those shamefully backing it included Hillary Clinton and much of the Democratic leadership, John Edwards blasted her for her stand, and Barack Obama, Chris Dodd, Joe Biden, and Bill Richardson all opposed the bill (though Obama missed the vote when Reid scheduled it earlier than he’d previously indicated while Obama was stuck campaigning in New Hampshire). So did newly elected Democratic Senators Jim Webb, Jon Tester, Sherrod Brown, Claire McCaskill, Amy Klobacher, and Bernie Sanders, and Republicans Chuck Hagel and Richard Lugar. But the majority got stampeded once again.

Convincing them to switch course and reassert their right to make such a fundamental decision as whether to go to war with Iran will require a major popular outcry: petitions--from groups like MoveOn, TrueMajority, Working Assets, and Democracy for America--that aren’t just mailed in, but publicly delivered by the basket. It means marches, rallies and endless phone calls and visits to Congressional offices. It probably means people sitting in some of these same offices (and I bet similar efforts around Iraq convinced my own Senator, Washington State’s Maria Cantwell, to vote the right way in this case). We can say these kinds of efforts have so far failed to halt the Iraq war, but they’ve certainly fed the Congressional resistance, and it’s always easier to stop wars before they start. We’re also demanding a far more modest initial goal of Congress and the Senate simply reaffirming their constitutional right to make fundamental war-and-peace decisions in the first place. So it should be an easier sell.

It seems inconceivable that the Bush administration could even contemplate a military attack, given the massive global backlash it would create. But this administration is intoxicated by its own illusions, so we’d be wise to heed those, like Seymour Hersh, Daniel Ellsberg, and former CIA analyst Ray McGovern, who warn that an attack is likely. Working to stop it doesn’t mean sugarcoating Iranian President Ahmadinejad’s more questionable proclamations, though as University of San Francisco Middle East expert Stephen Zunes has pointed out, even some of those are (or have been) misstated. Ahmadinejad’s oft-quoted threat to “wipe Israel off the map” was in fact a mistranslation of a 20-year-old quote by Ayatollah Khomeini, and Ahmadinejad explicitly told a group of American religious leaders that it was “not Iran’s intention to destroy Israel.” We can point out that Iran’s fundamental decisions on foreign affairs get made not by Ahmadinejad, but by the far more cautious Council of Guardians. And we can suggest that those itching to attack try viewing the world through the lens of the Iranians, who remember, as we do not, that we’ve already once overthrown an elected government of that country, in the 1953 CIA coup that deposed elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh in favor of the brutal Shah, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. Ahmadinejad might not even have been elected to office had Bush not rejected a major 2003 initiative by Ahmadinejad’s reformist predecessor, Mohammad Khatami, that included accepting peace with Israel and tighter nuclear inspections, and backing off from supporting Hezbollah.

But the campaign against a new Iranian war doesn’t even have to demand agreement on Iran policy at all. It just has to reassert the right of Congress to be the final arbiter of whether or not we go to war. For all their cravenness in the face of Bush’s demands, I doubt that most Senators would launch into attacking Iran while we continue to be mired down in Iraq and Afghanistan. Pushing for a resolution asserting Congressional rights would provide a concrete focus for those of us working to stop such a war, while placing Congressional Representatives, Senators, and Presidential candidates explicitly on record about whether to grant Bush the power to take this immensely reckless action. The voters could then respond to those unwilling to sign such a pledge.

Kyl-Lieberman is unquestionably a setback, giving Bush and Cheney still more latitude in proceeding toward global conflagration. But the now-more-likely war we’re trying to stop is not inevitable. It’s still up to us and the pressure we can create to stop it before it starts. Demanding Congress go on record about who decides would be a critical step.

Paul Rogat Loeb is the author of The Impossible Will Take a Little While: A Citizen’s Guide to Hope in a Time of Fear, named the No. 3 political book of 2004 by the History Channel and the American Book Association. His previous books include Soul of a Citizen: Living With Conviction in a Cynical Time. See www.paulloeb.org To receive his articles directly email sympa@lists.onenw.org with the subject line: subscribe paulloeb-articles

Film in Focus

2007-10-08T12:54:00.001-04:00

The Jane Austen Book Club
Director: Robin Swicord. Screenplay: Robin Swicord, based on a book by Karen Joy Fowler. Cinematography: John Toon. Film editing: Maryann Brandon. Production design: Rusty Smith. Music: Aaron Zigman. Producers: John Calley, Julie Lynn, Diana Napper. With: Maria Bello, Emily Blunt, Kathy Baker, Amy Brenneman, Maggie Grace, Jimmy Smits, Ed Brigadier, Kevin Zegers, Marc Blucas, Hugh Dancy, Parisa Fitz-Henley, Lynn Redgrave, Myndy Crist, Gwendoline Yeo, Miguel Nájera. USA. 105 min. 2007.

Kind of lonely and looking for companionship, a group of women and a young man they’ve met decide to read through Jane Austen’s novels and gather to discuss them on a regular basis, perhaps gaining clues to leading more fulfilled and gratifying lives.

Like most movies with this sort of premise, the picture strings together various fuzzy-minded formulas, none of which seem any smarter or fresher in combination than they’ve seemed in countless Hollywood romances on their own. The cast is lively enough to give the proceedings a modicum of entertainment value, although Jimmy Smits looks awful; what happened to the handsome guy of yore? Your best bet, as so often in these cases, is to stay home and reread the books—the Austen ones, not the one that inspired the film. You’re sure to profit at least as much as the shallow coffee-clatchers on the screen. – David Sterritt

Film in Focus

2007-10-07T15:16:00.000-04:00

Deep Water
Directors: Louise Osmond, Jerry Rothwell. Cinematography: Nina Kellgren. Film editing: Ben Lester. Music: Harry Escott, Molly Nyman. Producers: Alison Morrow, Jonny Persey, John Smithson. With: Clare Crowhurst, Simon Crowhurst, Santiago Franchessie, Ted Hynds, Donald Kerr, Robin Knox-Johnston, Françoise Moitessier de Cazalet, Ron Winspear, voices of Tilda Swinton, Jean Badin, Simon Russell Beale, archive footage of Donald Crowhurst. UK. 92 min. 2006.

This perfectly titled documentary recounts the adventures of a weekend sailor who attempted in the late 1960s to win a contest by circumnavigating the globe, alone and at record speed. He should have known from the beginning that he wasn’t up to this task—his trip to the starting point, three days for an average boater, took him two weeks—and sure enough, he soon floundered. But instead of heading for home, he decided to fake the full journey by drifting inconspicuously off the Brazilian coast, then slipping in with the other contestants as they raced for the finish line.

Although it sounds crazy, and in ways it was, this scam was almost plausible in the '60s, when communication and navigation devices were relatively unsophisticated. What our hero didn’t count on were the psychological demons unloosed in his mind by months of solitude and fear. His mental disintegration is evident in logbooks and tape recordings that survived the voyage, and directors Louise Osmond and Jerry Rothwell make good use of these in a “Grizzly Man” sort of way. Like that Werner Herzog documentary, this moving masterpiece tells a sad and spellbinding story. It’s a shining example of the psychological, sociological, and dramatic heights a great nonfiction film can reach. – David Sterritt

JAZZARIUM

2007-10-06T21:00:00.000-04:00

Matt Shulman; “So It Goes”; Jaggo Records
(Photo: Jimmy Katz, from http://www.mattshulman.com/)

Trumpeter/composer Matt Shulman has serious chops as a player and an imagination to match. “So It Goes” is a brave, bracing blast of innovation and spirit that reminds us that experimentation and entertainment can, in the right hands, be natural allies.

He has a dual background in classical and jazz technique and repertoire, and cites indie-rock influences Radiohead’s Thom Yorke and Magnet in deriving his singing style. From a trombonist friend he picked up playing and vocalizing simultaneously for multiphonics, and he uses reverb and loop pedals for further layering his sounds. In addition to his own tunes, this album includes Rogers and Hart’s “My Funny Valentine,” Berke and VanHeusen’s “It Could Happen to You,” and Bach’s “Air for the G String.” So when Shulman’s acknowledgements begin with “the universe,” it’s perhaps not just a figure of speech.

The title number is a soulful, trippy slow swing tune that has the air of self-therapy in its alternating small-club bluesy choruses and its flailing solos. And that’s echoed by the lyrics: “Has this world come to nothing but a show / It’s been long since you’ve seen / those better days / so it goes.” It’s as if the song organically developed in efforts at consolation.

“Almost There” reaches for something illuminated and elusive. “It’s fading fast / No I won’t be last / ’Cause I know you care / We’re almost there.”

In “My Funny Valentine,” quiet trumpet loops and vocals hover in the background like the ghost of Chet Baker. In the foreground are Shulman’s vocals—like those of an even more dissolute Baker brother—and a muted horn love lament.

“Forgetting/Remembering Yourself” is a loop-rich bop trance with the rhythmic heart of a clock or, the lyrics suggest, a train. He transfers vehicles to “Truckin’,” which features fun, raw polyphonics from Shulman and a nice solo shuttle from Matt Clohesy on bass. Then Shulman takes off completely in “Zeppelin,” a primal scream of a track propelled by the appropriately named Jason Wildman on drums (yeah, I’m sure he’s never heard that before, but still—it’s so right here). The lyrics wouldn’t stand on their own too well as poetry (“I can feel the rain / I feel your pain / I’ve gone insane / You just came”) but work weirdly well in this clearly combustible context.

“It Could Happen to You” is Shulman’s chance to recall for us that he’s just a darned fine trumpet player. I don’t know the ins and outs of an instrument-bracing device he developed (the ShulmanSystem) to help apply Alexander relaxation techniques to brass playing. But whatever he’s been up to, or learned at Oberlin and NYU, seems to be working well for him.

In “Key,” we’re back in the trance-philosophy realm, and one deduces from the lyrics that it’s a love story in cymbal- and symbol-shrouded song. “A warrior / I held my perception in solitude / I needed another / to circulate / to share / there she was / a pure soul / one who knows.” I hope it’s not yet another case of the lyrics outlasting the relationship. Because their “journey together” has inspired some wonderful music. And if the other is a noncorporeal presence, all the better—he won’t need to buy it a seat on road trips.

“Air for the G String” might be an homage to Shulman’s father, whom he heard when Shulman was a kid playing solo Bach repertoire. It resonated particularly with me, too, since it was played at the funeral of my violinist grandmother. A great, sweet, spooky way to end an album.

Why do I feel compelled to add my few slight worries for Shulman? He uses the looping and sing-playing cleverly here, but I hope he doesn’t come to over-rely on them. My fear is that they’ll become a crutch, like for the subway busker with the amp effects who comes to like the sound of his own instrument too much. Already in this album I’d like to have heard more of Clohesy and Wildman, and I don’t want Shulman to shortchange those and other colleagues in future projects. The looping, particularly, also risks becoming too heavy and static sometimes, or like the alpenhorn background music for a winter Olympics TV feature.

Again, he doesn’t succumb to those pitfalls here. So far his electronic roving reminds me pleasantly of what cellist Eugene Friesen was doing in the late 1980s in "Arms Around You." But as I’m sure Shulman knows better than I, the most interesting effect of all, in the long run, is thoughtful collaboration with other like-minded and like-souled musicians. I particularly missed the keyboard component here that would have interlaced nicely with looping used a tad more lightly.

Still, this is a great album. And someday when I’m blue and feeling spiritually confined, I’ll count on it to blast me out of my doldrums.

-Alexander C. Kafka

Film in Focus

2007-10-06T17:14:00.000-04:00

The Darjeeling Limited
with
Hotel Chevalier

Director: Wes Anderson. Screenplay: Wes Anderson, Roman Coppola, Jason Schwartzman. Cinematography: Robert D. Yeoman. Film editing: Andrew Weisblum. Production design: Mark Friedberg. Producers: Wes Anderson, Roman Coppola, Lydia Dean Pilcher, Scott Rudin. With: Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody, Jason Schwartzman, Anjelica Huston, Amara Karan, Wallace Wolodarsky, Waris Ahluwalia, Barbet Schroeder, Irfan Khan, Camilla Rutherford, Bill Murray, Natalie Portman. USA. 91 + 13 mins. 2007.

By David Sterritt

Three wealthy American brothers, poor little rich boys all, board a train in India to seek spiritual enlightenment, family reconciliation, and lots of possibilities to get plenty high on everything from alcohol to cough syrup to stuff you smoke in a pipe.

This mild-mannered comedy is Wes Anderson’s most economical movie since the underrated “Bottle Rocket,” and it’s likable all the way through, thanks to understated acting by the three stars and superb portrayals by a gifted supporting cast; among the standouts are Amara Karan as a spunky train hostess, Waris Ahluwalia as the vehicle’s long-suffering chief steward, Wallace Wolodarsky as an assistant to the tourists—looking like a cross between Wallace Shawn and Paul Giamatti, he gets great mileage from a tiny role—and best of all Anjelica Huston as the travellers’ mom, who makes a very late appearance but steals the screen every moment she’s around. The movie builds even less momentum than the subcontinental train of the title, which manages to get lost even though it’s on rails, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture with more endings, one after another after another. … But you’ll enjoy the ride if you check your goal-oriented habits at the door and simply go with the cinematic flow.

"Hotel Chevalier," a brief two-character short, is the unofficial Part 1 of “The Darjeeling Limited,” not shown in theaters (although it has been shown at film festivals and press screenings) but available for downloading from the Internet. It concerns a couple played by Schwartzman and Natalie Portman making a melancholy attempt to jumpstart their stalled love affair in the Paris hotel where she’s tracked him down. The feature will make sufficient sense if you don’t bother to catch the short, and the whole arrangement seems flat-out gimmicky to me. Ditto for the music tracks of both pictures, by the way, which exploit the instant nostalgia value of various oldies in ways the pioneering Martin Scorsese never would have dreamed of, or wanted to.

RadioOpticon

2007-10-06T16:01:00.000-04:00

3:10 to Yuma

Director: James Mangold. Screenplay: Halsted Welles, Michael Brandt, Derek Haas, based on a short story by Elmore Leonard. Cinematography: Phedon Papamichael. Film editing: Michael McCusker. Production design: Andrew Menzies. Music: Marco Beltrami. Producer: Cathy Conrad. With: Russell Crowe, Christian Bale, Logan Lerman, Dallas Roberts, Ben Foster, Peter Fonda, Vinessa Shaw, Alan Tudyk, Luce Rains, Gretchen Mol, Lennie Loftin, Rio Alexander, Johnny Whitworth, Shawn Howell, Pat Ricotti, Ramon Frank, Deryle J. Lujan, James Augure, Brian Duffy, Jason Rodriguez, Kevin Durand, Chris Browning, Chad Brummett, Forrest Fyre, Genjamin Petry, Arron Shiver, Sean Hennigan, Girard Swan, Christopher Berry. USA. 121 min. 2007.

By Jeremy Sterritt

“3:10 to Yuma” has Russell Crowe delivering one of his finest performances to date as Ben Wade, a bad-to-the-bone killer and wildly successful thief who falls completely, head-over-heels in love (handcuffed on his way to Yuma’s eponymous prison train) with hop-a-long sad-sack and very unsuccessful rancher Dan Evans, played by Christian Bale, who again delivers proof positive that he's one of the finest actors we've got.

But before getting into “3:10 to Yuma,” let’s flash back to “The Magnificent Seven” for perspective. That classic 1960 western opens with Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen witnessing something that everyone publicly agreed was just not right: the refusal of ignorant, podunk townsfolk to integrate their scraggly cemetery and allow the willing-but-terrified undertaker to bury some very nice dead Mexicans alongside their equally dead white kin. Brynner boldly declares that he’ll drive the gaudy hearse and brave a gauntlet of small-minded people, no matter how armed and angry they are, but he’ll need someone to ride shotgun. Cue McQueen: “I’ll do it.”

This all goes down in the middle of town on a fine sunny day. Let me paint the picture: Brynner, not a speck of dust on him, is in black ... shiny black: black hat, black shirt, and a crotch-hugging gun belt that could have been painted on. McQueen is in a white hat, neckerchief, and honest-to-goodness chaps. The two have been, as they say, “cruising” each other from the very first frame--McQueen in a classic hustler’s pose, wares on display; Brynner giving the eye, then the hat-touch, et cetera. Senator Craig could explain this ritual much better than I, but the point is that this is a sexually charged scene in a movie with many more to come. And here’s the bombshell: It’s not gay.

Westerns for the most part exist in a world without women. This became increasingly the case in postwar America, where men were men and conformity was king. In the mainstream suburban zeitgeist that dominated the 1950s -- the age of the company man, the nation steeped in a state-sponsored code of conduct -- the popular imagination’s capital-M Man was strong, silent, unassuming, bold; he slept at least three feet away from his wife and shook hands with his sons. Of course that’s not how things really were, behind closed doors, downstairs in the rumpus room. But such was the era’s pattern for manliness; not so much a set of expectations as a notion of what men should be like, or aspire to be like. It was the norm. And never was there a time when American society cared more about being normal than the 1950s, when a growing middle class, pinioned between prosperity and the specter of nuclear Armageddon, chose collectively to not rock the boat. Television -- the latest craze -- sealed the deal. On the news, viewers could daily see fellow normal-seeming Americans singled out, condemned, ostracized, and forced from their livelihoods as censorship and the rooting out of sedition became a national pastime of sorts. After the news, sitcoms entertained the masses with comic stories of superlatively normal families flying into hysterics and panic because the boss is coming to dinner for a spot-check inspection of compliance with the white picket fence, 2.3 children, and missus-and-a-meatloaf protocols of normalcy.

The 1950s’ idée fixe of men being strong and silent was a fraud, a mask of sham dignity that rewarded conforming, keeping in line, accepting the status quo. Being strong and silent meant keeping quiet and keeping it together while bearing up under the prescribed responsibilities of not just having and providing for a family, but making sure that family appeared happy and normal, which no family ever has been. These were the tasks for John Q. Notacommunist in Levittown, but his victories, if they could be called that, were hollow; his successes were accomplished by not doing things, and his very manhood was defined by, of all things, submission. Being strong and silent wasn’t an ideal, it was a demand.

But in the wild west, where each man made his own way and lived by his own rules, a man was free. The wild west was a place where men lived by their own codes, answered to no one, and faced death and danger every day. Foregoing the comforts of prosperity and family and escaping the responsibility of same, western heroes had something the 1950s guy sorely lacked: a chance to prove themselves as men.

Now back to “3:10 to Yuma,” the story of Dan Evans, an Arizona rancher without a prayer. Dan is a victim, or if they kept figures for such things in the Old West, a statistic. The Civil War took his leg and left him a carpet-bagging Yankee in rough-and-tough frontier-time Arizona. Drought and Manifest Destiny have it in for Dan. It hasn’t rained for months and the local plutocrat, in a railroad-is-coming land-grab, has choked off his water supply, burned his barns, and rustled his cattle in the time-honored tradition of keeping a good man down.

After witnessing outlaw Ben Wade’s umpteenth stagecoach robbery-slash-Pinkerton humiliation, Dan finds himself mano-a-mano with the legendary bandit three times in one day. Even though Wade treats Evans marginally better than his neighbors and family do, Evans agrees to help escort the desperado to Justice -- i.e., the 3:10 train to Yuma prison -- for $200 cash on the barrelhead. Sure, the money would see the Evans clan through the winter, but Dan’s gambit is more likely to cost him, his wife, and their two sons their lives than buy their way into high society. Proud but not reckless, Dan has motives that are anything but clear. It seems bleakly possible that he is gambling everything he has on a slim-to-nil chance to do what’s right.

“3:10 to Yuma” is based on an Elmore Leonard story, though, and so we know that “right” is not automatically on the side of the law. Whether a matter of honor or high jinks, in a Leonard story “right” must be mathematically irreducible and morally unavoidable when things finally shake out. So until the denouement of “3:10 to Yuma,” we have sufficient information only to know that Evans isn’t motivated by the $200. Nor is it anything personal between Evans and Wade (or Evans and his wife or Evans and his bitter eldest son). Our best bet is that what Dan Evans signs on for is a chance to examine all these things and more, concentrated into a single existential trail ride. Dan Evans needs to find himself, and what better way to do so than a road trip? And at the very least, this road trip offers two concrete and simple consolation prizes for Dan if things don’t work out perfectly: fiscal solvency or death.

Over the course of “3:10 to Yuma,” as Wade’s vengeful posse -- and a world of hurt -- gains on the unfortunate and shrinking band of first- and part-time lawmen escorting him, we learn very little in the way of new information. Wade, who is all swagger and (yes) glamour, gets scuffed and tarnished a bit. Evans, whose poker face is a cypher even to himself, reveals a few more of the numbers in his inner journey’s equation, the sum of which will determine once and for all his worth. Sometimes he glows a little.

What we know about both men is that no matter how hard you hit them, they don’t go down. For rock star Ben Wade there’s such a long way to fall that he can’t even see it as a possibility. Evans, though, has spent a lifetime mere angstroms from rock bottom, and is still, in his way, plummeting; making that train is his Everest. What allows this odd pairing to recognize something more than stubbornness in each other -- and, subsequently, to go gooey over one another -- is perhaps their defining shared characteristic: confidence in their own abilities. This is not cocksureness; Wade is winningly modest in his success, and Evans’s sole vote of confidence is his own. But it’s this confidence -- self-confidence -- that is the cornerstone of the bond Wade and Evans come to share. Perhaps more accurately, it is the currency they trade in; ultimately, Wade draws deeply from his overflowing coffers to fill Evans’s near-empty ones. Every man has a price, but heroes are not supposed to.

“3:10 to Yuma” illustrates, with surprising and welcome economy of language and style, that every man is a hero and that no man is. “3:10 to Yuma” is an existential negotiation between two men as they haggle over the price tag of life and death. They agree on terms that are exactly commensurate with each man doing what he needs to do to be okay with himself. Earning the respect of each other, Wade and Evans confirm their worth and reaffirm their right to respect themselves as men. “3:10 to Yuma” is about midlife crisis in the Wild West.

Jeremy Sterritt is Proprietor and Film Critic of RadioOpticon - am1020 whdd - robinhoodradio.com.

Film in Focus

2007-10-05T17:30:00.001-04:00

Lust, Caution / Se, jie
Director: Ang Lee. Screenplay: James Schamus, Hui-Ling Wang, based on the short story by Eileen Chang. Cinematography: Rodrigo Prieto. Film editing: Tim Squyres. Production design: Lai Pan. Music: Alexandre Desplat. Producers: William Kong, Ang Lee. With: Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Wei Tang, Joan Chen, Lee-Horn Wang, Chung Hua Tou, Chih-ying Chu, Ying-hsien Kao, Yue-Lin Ko, Johnson Yuen, Kar Lok Chin, Su Yan, Caifei He, Anupam Kher, Liu Jie, Hui-Ling Wang, Hayoto Fujuki, Yuji Kojima. USA/China/Taiwan. Language: Mandarin. 157 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

The place is Shanghai, the time is 1942, the background is World War II, and the first event in the story is a seemingly simple phone call that sets a violent act in motion. The movie then flashes back to 1938, when Hong Kong university student Wong Chia Chi joins a drama group that wants to oppose the Japanese occupation by staging patriotic plays. When they see the effect they have on their audience, the members of the troupe decide to escalate their efforts by assassinating a Chinese collaborator named Mr. Yee, using their theatrical skills to camouflage their identities and pull off the mission. Masquerading as a lonely wife, Wong seduces Yee, becomes his mistress, and leads him steadily to the slaughter until the situation spins out of her control, erasing all of the group’s preparations. But in 1941 they’re able to revive the scheme in Shanghai, leading to unanticipated outcomes for all concerned.

Eileen Chang’s short story telegraphs these occurrences in a small number of densely crafted pages; the screenplay by Hui-Ling Wang and longtime Ang Lee associate James Schamus fleshes out the details, expanding the tightly plotted tale into a brooding meditation on the interrelationships among love, power, sexuality, cruelty, greed, politics, fear, and loathing in a hyperemotional historical setting. The result is far and away Lee’s most imposing and impressive film, superbly acted and expressively directed from first scene to last. In some ways it’s an Asian analogue to Paul Verhoeven’s political thriller “Black Book,” which also focuses on a brave and intrepid woman confronting evil wartime interlopers in ways that challenge her ethics, her morality, and even her sense of self; but Lee comes more boldly to grips with the sexual dimensions of the intensely personal conflict, which pays enormous artistic dividends at the cost of a commercially harmful NC-17 rating from the American movie cops. The picture deserves the widest possible audience in its uncut version. Rarely have the imperatives of the sexualized mind and body been more articulately and intelligently explored on film.

PAUL LOEB: Edwards-Obama: Go Edwama

2007-10-05T13:08:00.000-04:00

By Paul Rogat Loeb

Barack Obama and John Edwards are competing against each other, including some recent sniping. But more than anything, both are trying to stop Hillary Clinton's momentum, and erode her lead in the polls. Suppose each pledged to focus between now and the primaries on their commonalities, and on their real differences with Clinton's priorities and stands. Even more audaciously, what if each pledged to offer the Vice Presidency to the other if they won? This just might be enough to shift the election.

Personally, I'm backing Edwards because of all the leading candidates, I think he's taken the most courageous recent stands on issues from trade and the Iraq war to global warming and domestic and global poverty. But when young voters get excited about Obama, or I see his vast numbers of grassroots donors, I get excited about the possibility that he might bring a new generation into politics, and combine his undeniable charisma with a vision of justice. When I see someone wearing an Obama T-shirt, my spirits lift. Even though I'm backing Edwards, I feel a sense of kindred cause. I've actually gotten a similar sense of shared hopes in conversations with supporters of both Obama and Edwards. And when I suggest the two running as a team, people respond with excitement. They see them together as powerful standard-bearers.

But for now at least, Obama and Edwards are dividing the bulk of the opposition to Clinton, which makes it far more likely that she'll become the nominee. That's a bad outcome for two key reasons: Clinton is likely to so mobilize the Republican base and demoralize many Democrats (particularly that broad section of the base that's angry about the war) as to jeopardize not only her election, but also other Democrats running for state and federal offices throughout the country. In a recent Pew poll, she had both higher unfavorable and lower favorable ratings than either Obama or Edwards. In a July Fox poll (of citizens, not Fox viewers), 29% of voters (including 27% of Independents and 5% of Democrats) said they would "never vote for her under any circumstances," compared to just 6% overall saying the same about Obama, and less than 1% about Edwards.

Yet even if Clinton does prevail, there's a good chance that she'll be led less by principle than by her own desire for power, as witnessed by her refusal to apologize for her Iraq War vote (and her resistance of any withdrawal timeline until just recently), her support of the recent Kyl-Lieberman amendment that opens a door to war with Iran, and an initial health care proposal so cumbersome and compromised it collapsed of its own weight (with a little help from the insurance and drug companies). Not to mention her mixed record of votes on the highly regressive bankruptcy bill, her cozying up to Rupert Murdoch, and her sitting on the Wal-Mart board for years. Clinton also spent $36 million last November, the most in the country, on a Senate campaign she could have won in her pajamas, while Democratic candidates were desperately scrambling for cash that she could have transferred, and while both Edwards and Obama were pointedly not raising money for their own campaigns, just for others.

But the reasons to choose Edwards/Obama or Obama/Edwards aren't just about an aversion to Clinton, but about the possibilities of shifting American politics. Both campaigns are anchored in genuine grassroots energy, as opposed to wealthy donors and Beltway consultants. Both offer the chance to draw new citizens into politics, for a vision that breaks from the automatic deferral to corporate interests characteristic not only of the Bush and Reagan administrations, but of many of Bill Clinton's policies as well. Where Hillary Clinton abdicated chance after chance to lead the opposition to Bush's destructive initiatives (especially before Bush's polls began to plummet), both Edwards and Obama have repeatedly spoken out (though I wish Obama had more so of late) and worked to rally citizens against them.

Edwards/Obama or Obama/Edwards would draw--in the campaign, and, I believe, in the White House--on Obama's years as a community organizer and experience living abroad and crossing every conceivable cultural line. And on Edwards's gut knowledge of what it means to grow up poor, his willingness to successfully take on some of the biggest corporations in America, and his years since 2004 in traveling the country and listening on issues of poverty. Plus they have eight years of combined Senate experience, most importantly in the degree to which both of them have traveled across the country and genuinely listened to the concerns and struggles of ordinary Americans. Compared to the Republican field, their combined strengths will represent a powerful and hopeful choice.

Clinton is leading right now, through name recognition, sympathetic national media, and nostalgia for the years when we didn't have Bush in the White House, not to mention a tightly controlled campaign that avoids controversial stands. Most Democrats still favor other candidates, but that majority is fragmented, making it hard for any individual candidate to get traction.

For Edwards and Obama to join together would radically change that dynamic. It would let them speak in a common voice, and talk about how much Clinton's vision has been shaped by the pay-to-play nature of Washington's conventional politics. It would allow them to raise the real issues that we face, more fiercely than before. It would let them talk about the kind of administration they could create together.

How could this ticket come to pass? By their talking with each other, to be sure, but also maybe by enough ordinary citizens embracing the idea. I think it's time to initiate a Draft Edwama online petition to begin a groundswell. Perhaps local activists in both their campaigns need to start a dialogue with each other. And maybe, just maybe, the two candidates will sense the potential, begin the conversations themselves, and in the process change the dynamics of this election.

Paul Rogat Loeb is the author of The Impossible Will Take a Little While: A Citizen's Guide to Hope in a Time of Fear, named the #3 political book of 2004 by the History Channel and the American Book Association. His previous books include Soul of a Citizen: Living With Conviction in a Cynical Time. See www.paulloeb.org To receive his articles directly email sympa@lists.onenw.org with the subject line: subscribe paulloeb-articles

2007-10-04T09:36:00.000-04:00

Andy Goldsworthy, Storm King Wall, 1997-98 Photographs by Frances Borchardt

2007-10-03T22:37:00.000-04:00

CLUED TUBE: '49 Up'

2007-10-01T21:12:00.000-04:00

49 Up
Directed by Michael Apted
PBS
October 9, 2007

The POV documentary series, as part of its 20th anniversary, is presenting the latest in the landmark British 'Up' project. Director Michael Apted has been dropping in on a diverse group of people every seven years since 1964. This latest chapter, which showed in theaters last year, is a bittersweet visit to our old pals in various states of middle-age stress, puzzlement, pudginess, and contentment. Interestingly, though, the series finds itself in the same mixed, muddled state.

That is, under-education, money issues, relationship trouble, hubris, and so on are on intriguing exhibit here. Age brings ugly surprises of one sort or another no matter how wisely one lives or what resources one is born with. But fate has traced the life arcs not only of Apted's subjects, but of his documentary approach as well. In the YouTube era, a director forcing himself civilly but sternly into these lives seems as idiosyncratic as anything Apted's subjects have been up to. It's all very "old media."

This original reality TV programming looks not obsolete but strangely vintage in the age of web cams and quirky, lively authorial documentary makers like Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock. It's like a classic album on vinyl that the afficionado would dubiously insist doesn't have the same soul on CD.

The original Granada TV "World in Action" program that started it all looks, in retrospect, a little cheesy, but at least it acknowledges the possibility of fun and hope as well as tragedy large and small. Is that an aesthetic luxury that can only be afforded with children? The series, over the years, has lost some of that simple human glow in its self-conscious semi-sociological seriousness. Part of that, no doubt, reflects the subjects' loss of innocence. But how much of it, I wonder, reflects the director's?

While most of Apted's original subjects have hung in there all these years, some have begged off, and some remain, it seems, mostly to give Apted a hard time. For instance, Jackie, one of the East End girls, has now moved to Scotland, has a second marriage, and lives on disability because of debilitating arthritis. She accuses Apted of being judgmental and rude, and we're inclined to agree with her. She objects, most specifically, to questions he'd asked her when she was a young woman about whether she was too young to get into a serious romantic relationship. But what bothers me more is his deadpan narrative updates about childhood ambitions and dreams warped by the material world if not shattered altogether. Those, and the whole slightly gray caste and tempo of the program, come across as rather arch and disgusted. Like Jackie, I'd think real hard about letting Apted, like a grim cinematic cicada, into my living room every seven years.

There's a similar stickiness to his interactions with Paul and Simon, two men we met originally when they were boys in a children's home. Paul, now living in Australia, still wrestles with low self-esteem and at one point, it's suggested, a more substantial depression. Apted focuses on those elements and what admittedly sounds like not the most invigorating job at a factory. But he seems to give short shrift to Paul's resilience--he runs marathons, and dotes on his wife, children, and grandchildren.

Apted asks Simon whether he'd hoped for more than his job fork-lifting cargo at Heathrow Airport. OK, so yes, a theme--maybe the theme--of the series, is class, but Apted's scolding disappointment is palpable, and palpably inappropriate. I mean, really--what if some condescending bloke barged in on even the astonishingly accomplished and prolific Apted and asked him disapprovingly to account for a dog of a film like "Extreme Measures"? The world needs efficient air cargo workers as fervently as it does even very fine directors, I would argue after recent summer travel.

Though he makes Tony (the charismatic failed former jockey) and his wife Debbie sweat some marital trouble, he allows them, once they've left Apted's Steadicam confessional, to bask in the sun of their second home in Spain with their kids and grandkids. Amusingly, though Tony, a cab driver and occasional actor, is something of a bigoted nationalist and East End nostalgist, you can't quite get worked up about it because you're too busy enjoying the irony of his situation. He's building this new life in a pub-pocked colony of realty-obsessed Englishmen--his own kind, as he'd defensively put it--but has to go to Spain to do it!

The upper-crusters have turned out nicely too, though Apted, of course, has to verbally spank them a bit for not all becoming soup-kitchen managers or something of the sort. The director's tone, again, indicates that Bruce, for instance, didn't put in enough time for Apted's taste teaching math in Bangladesh and in the East End. And shame on him for landing at the lovely looking 1,000-year-old St. Alban's School, marrying, and enjoying his children and cricket games. The only thing worse than being lower class and uneducated is being rich and educated.

Some others:

Lynn, a children's librarian, has done remarkable work with disabled clients, and has a loving husband who wants no part of Apted's series. But she's also suffered serious health problems and budget cuts are about to take her job from her. Quite heartbreaking.

Nick the farmer's son didn't have the success he'd hoped either as a physics researcher or with his first family. But he's a funny, self-effacing college prof in Wisconsin sharing a new, vibrant romance with an education professor in Minnesota.

The sweet-faced, articulate Neil, once homeless and even more doubtful than we were about his sanity, pulled himself together and started a career in local politics in the city. Now he's found a more soothing space and pace in the country, and is still involved in politics, as well as the church. He still looks a bit haunted, but like he's at least in fruitful negotiations with his ghosts.

It's that kind of resilience that, in this way or that, is emblematic of "49 Up." But though Apted directed the film, it's not clear he realizes that. I relish the "Up" series because it's brilliant and the only one of its kind. I'd relish it more, though, if Apted would at least consider giving that resilience the principal role it has more than earned.

There's still time. He has said he hopes to film "56-Up." He'll be 72. No doubt, he and his subjects will have suffered some misfortunes in the interim. But I hope that he doesn't let those slings and arrows steal the show.

-Alexander C. Kafka

2007-10-01T11:32:00.001-04:00

Style Bubble

Taking something and running away with it...

By susie_bubble

We're barely getting into the nitty gritty of Paris Fashion Week and already the bar has been raised quite a few notches. I don't mean this to be disparaging to the other fashion weeks. Pushing the limits of artistry and craftsmanship does not translate to a stupendous collection. A visual treat, yes. A collection workable on all levels? Not necessarily. Take Lie Sang Bong's SS08 collection, entitled 'New Romancer'. These images will instantly blow most people away in terms of fabric manipulation, technique, craftsmanship and colour composure. There's no denying the sheer amount of painstaking work that has gone into all of this. It's actually pure joy just devouring the images and taking in all the detailing. In a foody term of a visual feast, it's like a 15 course banquet cooked by Thomas Keller at the French Laundry.

However, the questions like 'But what does this all mean for the wearer?' arise, most people would then take another look at the collection and rethink it. Lie Sang Bong says it's for an 'individual woman with a high degree of sensibility for the avant garde.' I would argue that though those women are fewer in numbers these days when faced with fast fashion, that those that have the foresight to see wearability in these clothes do still exist. There is also nothing wrong with Lie Sang Bong taking an influence and pushing it to the ultimate limits it can go. In this case, he has used the Bauhaus movement and ran away with it completely. This isn't a criticism to him. I wish more would people run away and go doolally with a singular idea. Specifically, he's explored Oskar Scchlemmer's famous 'Triadisches Ballett' where the dancers merge with gemetric shapes which was featured a little at the V&A Modernism exhibition. I love how fluidity and warmth has been injected into Schlemmer's mechanic visions...

Southern Spain: Photographs by Lauren Kafka

2007-09-30T22:25:00.001-04:00

Film in Focus

2007-09-28T10:04:00.000-04:00

Across the Universe
Director: Julie Taymor. Screenplay: Dick Clement, Ian La Frenais. Cinematography: Bruno Delbonnel. Film editing: François Bonnot. Production design: Mark Rogness. Music: Elliot Goldenthal. Producers: Mathew Gross, Jennifer Todd, Suzanne Todd. With: Jim Sturgess, Evan Rachel Wood, Joe Anderson, Dana Fuchs, Martin Luther, T.V. Carpio, Andrew Asnes, Bono, Amanda Cole, Linda Emond, Lisa Hogg, Ellen Hornberger, Eddie Izzard, Spencer Liff, Angela Mounsey, Jacob Pitts, Jeanine Serralles, James Urbaniak. USA. 133 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

Set in the turbulent 1960s, this offbeat musical tells the bittersweet story of a lad from England’s industrial north who visits the United States to meet the father who abandoned his family years ago. Landing on the campus of Princeton University, of all places, he makes a motley assortment of American friends and gets caught up in the decade’s social and political upheavals, despite his modest wish to become an artist and live a quietly creative life.

All of this is punctuated by a nonstop succession of song-and-dance numbers choreographed to Beatles classics, most of which are effectively performed by a wide array of talents, although the strenuous competition provided by director Julie Taymor’s imaginative visual style often makes it hard to judge the music on its own merits. The movie’s best moments blend startling, sometimes surrealistic imagery with the hard-edged energy and relentless pacing that characterize Taymor’s best work.

The picture would be a lot more exciting, though, if its plot packed a few surprises. The narrative twists are standard ‘60s-movie stuff, rendered extra bland by Taymor’s decorous depictions of sex, nudity, and psychedelics, which are treated in relentlessly well-mannered ways that utterly betray the period’s vigorously rebellious spirit. Ditto for Taymor’s portrayal of the Vietnam war and the radical activists who forcefully opposed it; although the violent passions of the antiwar movement are eventually allowed to rear their unruly heads, the film’s ultimate message boils down to “All You Need Is Love,” which made for a lovely Beatles lyric but hardly encapsulates the most important legacies of the era they helped to revolutionize.

So see the movie for its music and dances, and for the latest signs of whether Taymor is on her way to becoming a major auteur. (To my mind, the verdict is still out: “Titus” is terrific, “Frida” is a disaster, and this opus is somewhere in between.) But no matter how hard you tap your toe, don’t think this superstylized romp is giving you more than a nostalgic and sentimentalized counterfeit of the explosive 1960s themselves.

Film in Focus

2007-09-26T13:21:00.001-04:00

Autism: The Musical
Director: Tricia Regan. Cinematography: Tricia Regan. Film editing: Kim Roberts. Music: Mike Semple. Producers: Sasha Alpert, Perrin Chiles, Tricia Regan. With: Elaine Hall, Stephen Stills, Kristen Stills, Rosanne Katon, and members of the Miracle Project named Adam, Henry, Lexi, Neal, and Wyatt. USA. 94 min. 2007.

This documentary gives a distinctive new spin to the venerable genre of Hey, Kids, Let’s Put On a Show movies. The heroes and heroines are autistic kids enrolled in Elaine Hall’s innovative Miracle Project, which encourages them to develop their creative talents by preparing and performing a song-filled stage production. The results are as boisterous as can be; the youngsters are hugely likable; and their parents (including the old rock-music icon Stephen Stills, who has definitely seen better days) are a study in contrasts as they cope, or try to cope, or fail to cope, with the challenges they and their families face. The results are winning, enlightening, and entertaining. -- David Sterritt

Lauderdale By The Sea: Photographs by Frances Borchardt

2007-09-24T22:24:00.000-04:00

2007-09-24T22:14:00.000-04:00

JAZZARIUM: Reviews of Arturo Stable's 'Notes on Canvas' and Ryan Cohan's 'One Sky'

2007-09-23T21:42:00.000-04:00

Arturo Stabile
Notes on Canvas
Origen Records

A rich Latin jazz Pictures at an Exhibition, Notes on Canvas transports us into a synesthetic realization of some of percussionist/composer Stabile's favorite works of art. Other musicians include Paquito D'Rivera on clarinet, David Sanchez and George Garzone on tenor sax, drummers Danfis Prieto and Francisco Mela, bassist Esperanza Spalding, pianist Aruan Ortiz, and Victor Mendoza on marimba, with Stable's congas, bongos, and other sounds offering calibrated, quirky, but never simply show-offy hues and brush strokes. The Cuban-born New Yorker renders Wilfred Lam's La Jungla (The Jungle), Picasso's Guernica, Monet's Impression/Sunrise, Frida Kahlo's Self Portrait, Da Vinci's Gioconda, Van Gogh's Self Portrait, La Ventana Magica (The Magical Window) by Stabile's father, Arturo Sr., Kandinsky's Composition No. 8, and Dali's Clock Explosion.

La Jungla is rhythmically lush with Sanchez's tenor sax carrying the main branch-swaying theme. Guernica is a sad fractured being featuring Garzone's mournful, bewildered tenor. Impression/Sunrise has Ortiz on a quiet chordal trek with Peter Slavov's agile bass and Stable's Cuban-box twitches giving the number a crazed-woodpecker tension. Kahlo is celebrated with the gentle gliding vocals of Esperanza Spaulding intertwined with Fernando Huergo's silky octave-leaping bass. In Gioconda, Da Vinci meets a Miles Davis kind of muted riff from Barry Ries's moody trumpet. Van Gogh's given a textured treatment undergirded by Francisco Mela's drums and Stable's restless congas. Stable Sr. is serenaded by D'Rivera's elegant clarinet--at once free and utterly precise--and Rene Izquierdo's delicate guitar. Composition #8 is stealthy and linear, and in Clock Explosion, time, under the spell of Stable's congas, is indeed combustible.

Upcoming for Stabile is a quartet album off the repertoire of pianist Frank Emilio Flynn, and trio and duet combos of Stabile's work. Give this imaginative album a listen and I think you'll join me in eagerly anticipating those projects.

Ryan Cohan
One Sky
Motema Music

The heart of this album is a suite of tone poems: "Into Being Parts I and II," "Wonder & Response," "Awe," and "Hope." Cohan is a superb composer and arranger, and a wonderfully bold, confident punch and jabber of a pianist, but with a quiet side that relishes the vulnerable ballad and the impressionistic riff. He is joined by a fabulous ensemble: Bob Sheppard on saxes and flute, Geof Bradfield on saxes and bass clarinet, Tito Carrillo on trumpet and flugelhorn, James Cammack and Lorin Cohen on bass, Kobie Watkins on drums, Ruben Alvarez on shekere, and Jean-Christophe Leroy on congas.

The suite is sweet--expansive, quirky, and spinny in a childlike way. I especially enjoyed "Wonder & Response," which has the lovely ambling feel of a quiet walk in fields near enough to be comfortable and far enough to keep the ambler alert to the everyday natural marvels he's been missing.

The sly "Double Agent" couples Sheppard's breathy burbling flute inspirations with Cohan's cool chordal maneuverings and scalar scampers. "Easy for You to Say" is an articulate musing on inarticulateness that will be instantly recognizable to any wooer who's tripped over his tongue or, in its introductory feel, to any pianist who's worshipped Bud Powell. (It might have nothing to do with wooing and Cohan might hate Powell. I'm risking a guess or two and hope you'll listen and risk some guesses of your own.) "Six Fortunes" is imbued with mystery by Cohan's pedaled pensees, Leroy's creeping congas, and a horn chart that never quite tonally resolves. "Checkmate" jogs through its urbane paces like the score to a sophisticated cop thriller. And "Lush Life," the only cover here, is delivered with a salute to Strayhorn and a reverence for Ravel.

Call me superficial, but my only quibble with this fine album is that someone--I'm presuming it's Cohan--has a bad case of hum-itis. Sometimes that's so integral to a musician's melodic momentum that there's nothing one can do. But it is distracting--at its worst, like having Ray Romano doing a little unplanned backup vocal--so if Cohan can strip it from his studio work especially, he should.

-Alexander C. Kafka

Film in Focus

2007-09-21T17:23:00.001-04:00

My Brother’s Wedding
Director: Charles Burnett. Screenplay: Charles Burnett. Cinematography: Charles Burnett. Film editing: Thomas Penick. Producers: Charles Burnett, Gaye Shannon-Burnett. With: Everett Silas, Jessie Holmes, Gaye Shannon-Burnett, Ronnie Bell, Dennis Kemper. USA. 81 min. 1982.

By David Sterritt

Although he’s rarely gotten the critical attention and commercial success he richly deserves, Charles Burnett is one of today’s leading African-American filmmakers. This comedy-drama isn’t as daring as his 1977 tone poem “Killer of Sheep” or as ingratiating as his 1990 tour de force “To Sleep with Anger,” but it’s definitely his funniest feature, and also one of his most serious. The main character is a conflicted working-class man who simultaneously resents and envies his yuppie brother, who’s a lawyer, and acts out his nervous anxieties by hanging out with an ex-con who’s his only real friend; eventually his emotional balancing act comes to a crisis, and he has to make a choice—at once highly symbolic and profoundly human—between attending the wedding of one person close to him or the funeral of another.

Burnett faced all sorts of stumbling blocks with this production, which was hit by everything from uncooperative weather to a disappearing act by a key cast member. The picture’s coproducer, a German television outlet, insisted that Burnett deliver the film on schedule despite these problems, so he rushed an assembly to them, hoping to complete a fine cut in the near future. The rough edition was then accepted by the prestigious New Directors/New Films festival at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, received a lukewarm review in the New York Times, and landed in distribution limbo.

Almost a quarter-century later, the admirable folks at Milestone Films have sprung into action on Burnett’s behalf, releasing a freshly reedited cut, which Burnett tells me is “the version that should have been,” to theaters. Milestone is also distributing both this director’s cut and the 1983 cut, restored by the Pacific Film Archive, in a DVD box set, along with “Killer of Sheep” and some of Burnett’s short films. Now is the time to discover the subtly observational, exquisitely nuanced cinema of a brave and original film artist.

Film in Focus

2007-09-19T18:59:00.001-04:00

Toots
Director: Kristi Jacobson. Cinematography: Daniel B. Gold, Tom McDonough. Film editing: Lewis Erskine, Penelope Falk. Music: Mark Suozzo. Producers: Whitney Dow, Kristi Jacobson, Alicia Sams. With: Walter Cronkite, Mike Wallace, Frank Gifford, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Nick Pileggi, David Brown, Peter Duchin, Maury Allen, Dave Anderson, Bill Gallo, Joe Garagiola, Sidney Zion, Gal Talese, Gianni Russo, LeRoy Neiman, Pete Hamill, Bill Buchbinder, John Clancy, Perian Conerly, Bill Fugazy, Pat Futcher, Bill Gallo, Harry Lavin, Larry Merchant, Liz Murray, Charles Reilly, Dick Sherman, Bert Randolph Sugar, Kerry Jacobson, Toots Shor. USA. 84 min. 2006.

Toots Shor, the legendary New York City saloonkeeper, started his career as a bouncer in the early 1930s and eventually opened his own restaurant, located on West 51st Street at first; in new digs a block north starting in 1960; and two blocks farther north starting in the early 1970s, when his celebrity-studded clientele lost its former loyalty and his business took a dive. He died in 1977.

This bright, lively documentary comes from bright, lively Kristi Jacobson, who is Shor’s granddaughter. Her smartest move was to have the late restaurateur narrate the picture himself, using an oral history he recorded two years before his death. Chockfull of commentary by famous folks who frequented his establishment, the movie makes up in charm and energy what it lacks in clear-eyed objectivity. You won’t find a more vivacious portrait of mid-century Manhattan any time soon. – David Sterritt

RadioOpticon

2007-09-19T18:58:00.001-04:00

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Director: David Yates. Screenplay: Michael Goldenberg, based on J.K. Rowling’s novel. Cinematography: Slawomir Idziak. Film editing: Mark Day. Production design: Stuart Craig. Music: Nicholas Hooper. Producers: David Barron, David Heyman. With: Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Rupert Grint, Jason Boyd, Rich-ard Macklin, Harry Melling, Kathryn Hunter, Miles Jupp, Fiona Shaw, Richard Griffiths, Adrian Rawlins, Geraldine Somerville, Robert Pattinson, Ralph Fiennes, Natalia Tena, Brendan Gleeson, George Harris, Peter Cartwright, Bridgette Millar, Gary Oldman, Mark Williams, David Thewlis, Maggie Smith, Julie Walters, Timo-thy Bateson, James Phelps, Oliver Phelps, Bonnie Wright, Jamie Wolpert, Nicho-las Blane, Robert Hardy, Jason Isaacs, Chris Rankin, Michael Gambon, Imelda Staunton, Sian Thomas, Tom Felton, Jamie Waylett, Josh Herdman, Katie Leung, Matthre Lewis, Evanna Lynch, David Bradley, Devon Murray, William Melling, Apple Brook, Alan Rickman, Emma Thompson, Alfie Enoch, Afshan Azad, She-fali Chowdhury, Warwick Davis, Nick Shim, Sam Beazley, John Atterbury, He-lena Bonham Carter, Robbie Coltrane, Richard Leaf, Tony Maudsley, Alec Hop-kins, Robbie Jarvis, James Walters, Charles Hughes, James Utechin. UK/USA. 138 min. 2007.

By Jeremy Sterritt

How much does it suck to be Harry Potter? Let me count the ways:

1. You're an orphan with a home life worse than anything Dickens could come up with.

2. Far from a place of whimsy and enchantment, your school is a sadistic fun-house that is more likely than not going to kill you. It, too, is worse than anything Dickens could come up with. Or Clive Barker. Or that Book of Revelation guy. You keep going there anyway, perhaps in hope of learning to read things, like brochures.

3. A term there, as at many a British public school, is enough to screw most people up for life; moreover, the place is clearly built on an Indian burial ground that was itself built on an Indian burial ground. But again and again you have to return to this game show of psychological torture, which is after all your quote-unquote home.

4. After summer vacation in a Skinner box, moreover, your months at school in the castle of insanity--where at least one new, highly suspicious teacher joins the existing faculty each year in singling you out for special, secret-prison-style treatment--are recalled as, and possibly are, the best days of your life. Most people who have been to prison or summer camp seem to end up going back, but Harry Potter is creepily more like that “Deer Hunter” guy.

5. No matter what sick, twisted blood sport is in vogue this season, you will inevitably be participating in it. You're a shoo-in homecoming king at Hogwarts’s end-of-term prom substitute: the annual student-on-student death race.

6. Each year you get cuter and closer to legal age, which helps sell movie tickets, but does you no good because the only two friends you have in the world do just the opposite, growing homelier all the time.

7. Possibly because of your increasing ability to run with the in-crowd of Hogwarts hotties, you treat your dumpy friends with disdain. This might have worked in “Heathers,” but it backfires in your movie as your arrogance and smug superiority make the cool kids treat you worse and worse ... and your loser friends glom on even closer.

8. Your parents are dead.

9. Your stand-in dad is a convicted murderer, but not a rapper, despite being called Serious Black.

10. Serious Black ends up dead, just like your real parents, which can't make you feel good. Plus, in his last words to you, he can't remember your name.

Yes, the Harry Potter saga continues with another dark summer blockbuster. The film series is still some distance away from the consummation of young Mr. Potter's determined adventures in not getting kicked off the island, or in his case, kicked out of school; but we know things will work out in the end, even though no one gets the girl, everything is far too sinister for sound sleep, and another someone close to Harry will end up dead.

It is with this most recent installment, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” that the chronicles of Potter take a step down in this reviewer's estimation. For some years--years dominated by summer sequel upon summer sequel--the Harry Potter ones have been the best of the bunch. And it's not hard to figure out why. The first batch were fun, first-act romps, with Harry and company discovering the delights and more-or-less harmless pitfalls of leaving home for something grander. Or just different, since any change would be welcomed by the ticking time bomb that was Harry Potter before his acceptance to Sorcery U. For a few years at least, we could trust in the Potter pictures to send us from the theater smiling and with a light heart.

Then came last year's chapter, or maybe it was the one before that, when things started to change. Instead of those-were-the-days larks like mistaking the evil professor for an evil professor and just barely winning the Quidditch world cup, a death toll began to mount. And tellingly, young Mr Potter, like any adolescent but with far better reason, became taciturn, moody, and scared. Unlike the geography and math tests that make school so easy, Harry began facing spooky tests, existential tests, tests where snorting all the crushed-up Ritalin in the world won't help.

These tests, these films, mark the second act in the protracted Potter yarn. Second acts are sometimes the best (think “Empire Strikes Back”) but are very often the worst (think “Matrix: Reloaded”) and are always, by definition, about one thing: conflict. Second-act conflict usually has little to do with anything outside the head of the hero, however, which is why Shakespeare, always on the money, found a way to get us inside the heads of his sullen, foot-dragging, self-pitying heroes. In “The Empire Strikes Back,” George Lucas uses the obvious yet too-seldom-employed device of simply abandoning the hero to sulk and brood, choosing instead to follow some real action with Han and Leah, Boba Fett and Lando Calrissian. The idea is compellingly simple: By the time the butterfly leaves its self-involved chrysalis of introspection and doubt, ready for some third-act fireworks, all that's required is that said butterfly show up where the action is and not be a buzzkill.

Unfortunately, when a story is spread out over a long series of milk-'em-for-what-they're-worth children's books, this approach just doesn't work. You try to keep things engaging and fun, but let's face it: The inner-turmoil-type perils of Potter are only going to be fun for those who are truly engaged. And that counts me out. I don't want Dumbledore to die, but while I'm not evil, I couldn’t care less if he does; in fact, I'm not really sure what his dead/alive status is at the moment. Simply put, I'm not a devotee of the books, and that's making it increasingly hard to be a fan of the movies each summer.

The good news is that nine out of ten people on five continents are devotees of the Harry Potter books, do know if Dumbledore is alive or not, and will be transported into ecstasies of joy by any and all Harry Potter mousepads, coffee mugs, tee-shirts, golf tees, breakfast cereals, Saturday-morning cartoons, and Halloween costumes--let alone the continued live-action installments of better-than-average (if increasingly dour and somber) summer movies that the H. Potter franchise brings us each year.

How certain am I that we can expect more authorized Harry Potter movies, and maybe even books? Let me count the ways:

1. Ka-ching!

2. Ka-ching!

3. After a decade or so, J.K. Rowling will hear the following whispered, as in a dream: ka-ching!

4. Forget ka-ching; you're center square or you're nothing.

5. Won't somebody please think of the children!

Jeremy Sterritt is proprietor and film critic of RadioOpticon - am1020 whdd - robinhoodradio.com.

OPINION: Simplifying the Complexities of Iraq

2007-09-19T10:03:00.001-04:00

By Donald Kaul
Via Minutemanmedia.org

You have questions about the war in Iraq? I have answers. These:

Q---Is the surge working or not?

A---Yes and no. When we flood an area with troops, things get a lot quieter. When we leave, those fun-loving Iraqis start: 1) Beheading each other and 2) Blowing each other up. There is no evidence that the surge has or will have a lasting effect.

Q---You don’t think the national government will ever be able to get control of the country, then?

A---Before you have a national government, you need a nation. Iraq ain’t.

Q---What about the documented successes in Anbar province, where tribal leaders have joined American forces in driving out elements of al Qaida?

A---That’s been a good thing, but don’t expect to repeat it elsewhere. Anbar is a largely Sunni area and tribal leaders made common cause with the United States because al Qaida was being positively beastly to them. That doesn’t mean they love us or will ever be able to get a square deal from the Shia-dominated central (ha-ha) government.

Q---Is the partitioning of Iraq into Sunni, Shiite and Kurdish sectors the answer then?

A---It’s an answer; whether it’s the right answer remains to be seen. A partitioned Iraq doesn’t address questions of equal access to oil revenues, areas like Baghdad that can’t be neatly partitioned or the specter of a civil war that could draw in Syria, Iran and Turkey, among others. (Even Saudi Arabia has promised to come to the aid of Iraqi Sunnis if they are mistreated, although the next war Saudi Arabia shows up for will be the first). If you want a religious war to engulf the Middle East, partition might be the way to go.

Q---If things are as bad as you say, why did General David Petraeus, our commander in Iraq, agree to withdraw the 30,000 surge troops by next summer?

A---He had no choice. Our army is close to being broken. It cannot sustain the surge any longer than next summer, no matter what the situation. In addition, the public clamor for withdrawal is growing daily and Gen. Petraeus had to make it seem as though President Bush’s Iraq strategy had a chance to succeed.

Q---Are you suggesting that Gen. Petraeus is a political general, one who crafts his military advice to fit the president’s wishes?

A---Heavens to Betsy, no. The man is a saint, a regular George Washington. He would never let politics influence his advice on the war. I would point out, however, that generals who give President Bush advice that contradicts his fantasy life---Shinseki, Abizaid, others---are soon colored gone.

Q---What about the Pottery Barn theory---“If you break it, you own it?” Don’t we have an obligation to the Iraqi people to bring some semblance of order and justice into their lives?

A---Yes, we do and in areas where we’ve gotten the cooperation of the population, we’ve done pretty well by them. But we haven’t been able to keep Iraqis from killing each other in much of the rest of the country. Nor do we know how to do it now. We have an obligation to the Iraqis but we also have one to the thousands of American troops we’re sacrificing to this futile exercise and to their families.

Q---What’s the best course of action, then?

A---The difficult truth is that there is no best course; all courses are bad. Certainly, an endless occupation doesn’t seem to be the answer. Abandoning the Iraqis to genocidal warfare is hardly more appealing. The name of the game being played in Washington right now is a contest between Republicans and Democrats to avoid blame when we leave and things go to hell. And they will, no matter when we leave.

Q---What ever happened to the Coalition of the Willing?

A---It went Missing in Action as soon as they started using real bullets.

Don Kaul is a two-time Pulitzer Prize-losing Washington correspondent who, by his own account, is right more than he's wrong.

OPINION: It's Past Time to Sit Down With Iran

2007-09-19T10:00:00.000-04:00

By Eli Lewine
Via Minutemanmedia.org

The drumbeat for American action against Iran has steadily grown over the past year. The latest call to arms came during congressional testimony on the situation in Iraq by General David Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker, both of whom reported that Iran is interfering in the internal affairs of Iraq and making the situation there worse.

Iran’s alleged meddling in Iraq, combined with its reluctance to reveal openly the details of its nuclear program, has created a sense of unease about Tehran’s intentions. As one of the strongest powers in the Middle East, Iran’s actions will play a large role in the future of the region. If the United States is to have any hope of helping to establish peace in the greater Middle East, it must immediately initiate robust and direct negotiations with Iran.

Washington and Tehran have been estranged diplomatically for over 50 years. Bad blood still exists from the 1953 CIA overthrow of Iran’s first democratic elected government, and from the 1979 Islamic revolution in Iran, when dozens of innocent Americans were taken hostage. Our regional interests have rarely intersected in any significant fashion, with one notable exception being the Al Qaida terrorist threat after 9/11.

Some hawkish policymakers in the United States have called for a military attack against Iran, arguing that pinpoint aerial strikes would disable Iran’s growing nuclear program in one swift maneuver and send a message that any suspected nuclear weapons activity or meddling in Iraq will not be tolerated. History, however, has shown how ineffective such tactics would be. Repeated military interventions by major Western powers in the Middle East have yet to produce even a semblance of long-term stability. Instead, these interventions have bred fear and resentment of the West throughout the Muslim world.

Any attack against Iran would be viewed as unprovoked aggression and, short of a full-scale ground invasion, would do little to permanently stop Iran’s nuclear progress. A full-scale invasion of Iran, however, is a logistical impossibility given the already overextended state of American military forces, who are juggling simultaneous deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. Pro-American moderate Iranians would turn against the United States in response to an attack on their homeland.

Tensions between Iraq and Iran have been recently intensifying. Kurds in the far northeastern corner of Iraq have endured several weeks of rocket and artillery attacks reportedly emanating from Iran. The besieged Kurds and Iraqi officials have demanded that Iran cease the attacks, but Iranian officials have denied the accusations and claim that they have only been attacking Kurdish guerrillas who are making raids into Iranian territory. So far, these border attacks have burned acres of orchards, killed livestock, destroyed homes, and driven about 2,500 Kurds from their villages. Given the protracted violence of the Iraq-Iran War of the 1980s –- a conflict in which the United States ironically supported Saddam Hussein’s Iraq –- this latest round of violence is dredging up some very bad memories in northeastern Iraq.

When questioned by Congress on September 10 and 11, Ambassador Crocker stated that recent attempts by the United States to negotiate directly with Iran have made little progress. But the Bush administration seems to be using its inability to participate in fruitful negotiations with Iran – which are, not surprisingly, proving difficult to conjure out of thin air following 30 years of mutual hostility – to justify its policy of refusing to reach out to Iraq’s neighbors to help stabilize the situation in that war-torn country.

Negotiations can only succeed when they are part of a fuller strategic process, not simply tacked on as a fig leaf to shield the Bush administration from criticism of its overly militaristic approach in the Middle East. In order for diplomacy to be effective, the United States must invest the full weight of its resources and know-how. So far, the United States has only applied sanctions, worked through United Nations resolutions, and allowed the Europeans to take the lead in discussions with the Iranians.

While these are all sound supplementary strategies, they do not substitute for what is desperately needed: direct talks between Iran and the United States. If the United States neglects its international leadership responsibilities and the Bush administration continues its current adversarial policy towards Iran, we should not expect any improvement in the current situation and things may get much worse.

Eli Lewine is a researcher at the Center for Arms Control and Non-Proliferation in Washington, D.C.

OPINION: More Corn--and a Bigger Dead Zone in the Gulf

2007-09-19T09:57:00.000-04:00

By Dennis Keeney
Via Minutemanmedia.org

This summer, the U.S. Department of Agriculture announced that U.S. farmers have planted a post-World War II record amount of land with corn to meet the growing demand driven largely by increased ethanol production. A few weeks later, researchers from Louisiana State University reported an all-time record for the size of the dead (hypoxic) zone in the Gulf of Mexico. Is there a connection?

Well, yes.

We know the amount of algal growth leading to low oxygen levels, and subsequent fish and shrimp decline, in the Gulf of Mexico is directly related to the amount of nitrogen going down the Mississippi River. And we know that much of this nitrogen comes from the fertile farmland in Minnesota, Iowa and Illinois, the heart of the Corn Belt.

Corn prices reached as high as $4 a bushel this spring, and are at about $3.40 a bushel now, still a profitable margin. The anticipation of continued high prices has increased the incentive to move land into corn.

This year, the amount of land planted in corn has increased a whopping 18.5 percent, from 78.3 million to 92.9 million acres. These acres come from soybean, Conservation Reserve Land and grasslands. More often than ever, corn is being planted on the same land each year, eliminating the time-proven rotations of the past and requiring more nitrogen use.

This shift toward greater corn acres will greatly enhance nitrogen flow into the Mississippi River. Yet Gulf Coast and Midwest scientists who have been studying the causes of hypoxia and developing models to predict its behavior in the gulf have called for a 50 percent reduction in nitrogen runoff – in order to reduce the dead zone to the level it was about 20 years ago. Clearly, current biofuel policies are pushing the Gulf in the wrong direction.

It is possible that a perfect storm of farming practices and climate change-driven events have caused the record level of hypoxia this year. Last winter was warm and wet, causing nitrogen in crop residues, animal manures and applied fertilizer to be more rapidly converted to the soluble nitrate form. Many farmers applied their nitrogen in the fall in anticipation of greater corn acres. And heavy spring rains accelerated its leaching into the Mississippi River and the Gulf. This was reflected in the high levels of nitrate in Midwest rivers this spring.

Farmers believe increased ethanol demand will keep corn prices high for years to come. So, unless there are major policy changes, it is likely we will see increased corn land and higher use of nitrogen fertilizer for the foreseeable future.

The fertilizer needs for a corn-based ethanol system undercut some of the potential energy gains. That is because nitrogen fertilizer, made from natural gas, requires a lot of energy – up to 29 percent of the energy use in agriculture. Since most corn crops are fertilized with about 150 to 200 pounds per acre of nitrogen fertilizer, it takes between 30 and 40 gallons of diesel fuel equivalent just to fertilize the crop.

There are good alternatives, such as organic farming or long-term rotations, to reduce the use of nitrogen for growing high yields of corn. But right now, these more eco-friendly options do not provide the vast amounts of corn needed to fill the increased demand of the ethanol boom.

We need policies to encourage a new world of energy-producing cellulose crops as an alternative to corn. These perennial crops could provide feedstock for biofuels, clean water and healthy soils. Congress must look at biofuel issues as it finishes writing the 2007 Farm Bill. If incentives for growing corn could be reduced, cellulosic ethanol support could be enhanced and support for more sustainable forms of agriculture could be provided, we could assure a healthy landscape and rural economy – and a healthy Gulf of Mexico.

Dennis Keeney is a senior fellow at the Institute for Agriculture and Trade Policy and former director of the Leopold Center for Sustainable Agriculture.

TUNE HEAD

2007-09-19T05:54:00.001-04:00

Enter Shikari
Take to the Skies
Ambush Reality

See, this is why you shouldn't let your children attend primary school. They might meet other music-loving lunatics, bond, and form a band, as did Rou Reynolds (vocals/electronics), Rob Rolfe (drums), and Chris Batten (bass). Well, three-quarters of a band--Rory Clewlow (guitar) joined them four years ago to top off Enter Shikari, a wonderful oddity from St. Albans, north of London. During hundreds of shows, making precocious teens even more precocious, they’ve honed their strange amalgam of punk, gothic, speed metal, trance, and electronica into a distinctive sound. From rave to raving, Take to the Skies is their first full-length album, self-produced over three weeks in autumn 2006.

Take any one aspect of their sound, and it might not be that interesting. But the punk shout-singing combined with soothing choir-boy melody, the layered grit-metal guitar and mesmeric synth loops, the alternating lyricism and attack mode on vocals and song writing--all that rockets our ears into an interesting realm.

The lads could take it a bit easier on the soccer-hooligan chants and the goth-screaming (though I’m sure it goes over better live). We get it, fellas, you’re potentially scary blokes.

But these 17 tracks tip us off to the fact that you’re also musical blokes veering toward a fun, vigorous art rock, and no matter how often you growl the f-word and scream, "Walk the plank!" I won't be convinced otherwise. And I heard that lilting ballad, “Adieu,” hidden deep into your track list, you sneaky, elegiac devils. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.

The Darjeeling Limited: Original Soundtrack
ABKCO Music & Records

Speaking of strange amalgams, later this month, Fox Searchlight rolls out Wes Anderson’s latest film, and accompanying it comes this peculiar but refreshing swirl of 60s rock, vintage low-key psychedelia, music from the films of Satyajit Ray and Merchant-Ivory, and classical fare. The scenario is an odyssey involving three American brothers (Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody, and Jason Schwartzman) alternately finding and losing themselves on a trip to India.

Just how the music fits in with Anderson’s dizzying instinctual visions we’ll have to find out. But working again with his previous collaborator, music supervisor Randall Poster, Anderson has, we learn from some advance notes, reflected the brothers’ commonalities and divisions with a few lesser-known tracks from Lola vs. the Powerman & the Money-Go-Round, by some other famously complicated brothers, Ray and Dave Davies of the Kinks. All but one of Anderson’s films, The Life Aquatic, have included Rolling Stones songs in the score. This time it’s “Play With Fire.” Peter Sarstedt’s trippily cosmopolitan “Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)” and the French chanteur Joe Dassin’s “Les Champs Elysees” also make cameos, as do Beethoven (Ray apparently loved the Seventh Symphony) and Debussy.

But the main ingredient in Anderson’s musical masala are short outtakes from Ray’s films, some written by Ray himself. On the album, they coalesce into alluring otherness, familiar enough to be approachable, foreign enough to play into Anderson’s disorientation session.

Meanwhile, here’s a test for you. See if you can listen to “Typewriter Tip, Tip, Tip” from Merchant-Ivory’s Bombay Talkie without dancing around your room. Seriously. Bet you can’t.

-Alexander C. Kafka

2007-09-18T22:31:00.000-04:00

2007-09-18T11:04:00.001-04:00

Style Bubble

London Fashion Week SS08 Day 2

By susie_bubble

I'm now convinced that there are more photographers at London Fashion Week taking pictures of what show-goers are wearing than of the actual clothes being shown on the catwalks, which is no bad thing in this age of 'Thumbs up for street style pics' but it is a bit ludicrous when a street style photographer stands in front of Anna Wintour, not to take snaps of her, but actually to take a picture of me, as I was two steps behind Ms. Wintour going into the Gareth Pugh show. I was sort of gawping at Ms. Wintour in a dorky fashion whilst having an American streetstyle photographer (wearing the coolest PVC top I've seen ever...) saying to me 'Hey can I take a picture of you? You look amazing!'. Erm...what?.

As some of you have pointed out, the lovely Yvan from Facehunter has snapped me once again with a beautiful late summer backdrop of Bloomsbury Square (I'm so glad that there's that bit of green to escape to before and after the shows held at the Topshop New Gen venue) and it seems he and many other sites from all over the world are all out in force at London Fashion Week. Gretchen, the stylist I snapped on Saturday, pointed out how uncomfortable I look when I'm getting my picture taken and it is a little bizarro that despite the number of pictures I post of myself here, as soon as I see a camera pointing at me, I do tend to freeze up. I'm glad Yvan has captured some semblance of relaxation in my face though. Good circumstances to take a Susie Snap: The sun was shining, the leaves are just turning brown, and dapper fashion folk are strolling about the square. What's not to like?

Shows seen: Louise Goldin, Danielle Scutt, Amanda Wakeley (putty, grey and more grey.... lovely leather jackets though!), Peter Jensen, Gareth Pugh.

Though day 2 of LFW was supposed to be a packed affair, through sheer exhaustion, I couldn't make it out to the PPQ show at 9 in the morning but I suppose it did look like I missed a 'star' turn on the catwalk with Peaches Geldof closing the show in a white tutu... some Luella-esque 80's prom dress moments there, but it's still very fun.

Wearing: The eBayed Balenciaga jacket, the pleated skirt with the metallic blue hood which I made and then constructed into a front draping with a charity shop belt, American Apparel blue stirrup tights, in the picture I'm wearing flats (have to travel in comfort!) but come shows, I wore some olive Buddhahood ankle boots as seen in the Facehunter pic. I'm also carrying a blue patent bag with gold chain straps that some people thought was the 'latest Chanel' ... um ... try $1 eBay find ... gosh, it's gonna be so boring if I just tell everyone that all my clothes are from eBay.

Ths Topshop Venue this year, as I said is in Bloomsbury and though Victoria House itself is massive, Topshop has only got the lower level basement spaces and so it still is a little bit of a health hazard as you descend down the stairs to be seated. The reception bit is very cool though ...

Prints ahoy. I loved this woman's Eley Kishimoto dress and the way her flesh tights were slouched to the optimum level. I also bumped into Leanne, who I met in Texas and is over here as she has just finished her internship with Anne Valerie Hash in Paris. Liking the dress with the biker boots!

I had to thank Louise Goldin for showing the juiciest (but not loud) mix of colours in her SS08 collection. The fine knitting techniques combined with lighter materials means that knitwear is completely viable in the summer and it makes me think of early 20th century swimwear which was made out of wool. I'm eager to frolic about on the beach eating Fab lollies wearing this ...

Danielle's Scutt's show was straight after Goldin's and it was pretty 'ROOOAAAR' stuff ... pun intended with 'Raw'? Perhaps as it's less about 'Margareth Thatcher'-chic which Scutt is known for and more about someone more aggressive, referencing primal creatures and Roman gladiators. The animal prints are surprisingly working for me and I love the structure of the criss cross lattice straps ... all the better to tuck the flesh in.

The show music was fun fun fun too.... I can't help doing some 'seat dancing' when M.I.A. comes on.... dangerously infectious...

Prada sock watch continues and yesterday, it was a different colour, but I was more transfixed as her shoes were also those unmistakable Prada curved heel shoes with a jewelled toe.... Staring is such bad form.

The head embellishment game is quite far gone in London and perhaps it's becoming a bit of a city signature style ... anything from green wigs, to wired bows (I was trying to get closer to see what sort of mesh it is as I'm dying to get hold of some to play with myself) and the crazed Madam Pompadour wig-hats (It's Tracy Rose wearing her own creations...)

The Peter Jensen show would have been so confusing for my brain had I not had the accompanying show notes. The collection entitled 'Mink' is split into five parts, each based on a character, Mink Stole, from a John Waters movie; Taffy, Connie, Dottie, Tammy and Peggy. Having not watched that many John Waters films apart from Pink Flamingos, it was a little hard for me to 'get.' But on their own, the clothes are still fun. Jensen has also created some patent loafers in lilac, white and black for Topshop and I'm thinking they might get to 'brogue/oxfords' status come next spring summer.

Seeing blue ... in suits, shiny, satin, coats and bag. I guess I wasn't the only one who was feeling the cobalt.

Other random snaps ... a textured gold leather tote that I wanted to touch. ... A cropped leather jacket that this girl wore superbly (still not buying into the Kate Moss for Topshop version though ... no way). ... A rather elegant girl in a beautifully cut red wool jacket and a tasteful Louis Vuitton blue Epi leather bag was standing at the Amanda Wakeley show. Not usually a fan of elegant-chic but she did have the 'I am bored. Why am I standing here?' face which heightened the outfit.

So back to the Anna Wintour incident. I was hurried into the Gareth Pugh show as my name was on the list but I was sans invite so I felt a little nervous anyway as to where I was sitting etc. etc. but then THAT bob was in front of me and I was like 'Oh ... deary me ...' Fast forward to the streetstyle photographer scenario above. Oh, and I knocked my black tote into Ms. Wintour who I thought might topple over because she is TEENSY! Way to go ... way to go ...

The turnout was stellar, though, with Hamish Bowles, Suzy Menkes and Anna Piaggi (an Anna I prefer vastly!) in the front row...

And what of the show? I'm criticised here for my admiration of Gareth Pugh and I'm sure the criticism will continue after this collection. The questions of whether he can make clothes fit for wear will be answered as Gareth Pugh has just arrived at Browns Focus (and other stores soon) and I will be trying him on for size myself. I am in agreement with Ms. Pernet when I say his SS08 collection is his best yet. Less about the gimmick, and more about reaching heights of artistry and technique. The black fringing being the main focus and rather than coming out with an apologetic watered-down collection of what he has produced previously, he has played up aspects of his previous work, which said 'It can be worn in reality ... just for a niche crowd.' Nothing wrong with catering to the niche ...

Now...does anybody remember the original Clothes Show? ; )

San Francisco Photographs by Frances Borchardt

2007-09-17T22:09:00.000-04:00

Film in Focus

2007-09-16T18:23:00.000-04:00

In the Valley of Elah
Director: Paul Haggis. Screenplay: Paul Haggis. Cinematography: Roger Deakins. Film editing: Jo Francis. Production design: Laurence Bennett. Music: Mark Isham. Producers: Paul Haggis, Laurence Becsey, Patrick Wachsberger, Steven Samuels, Darlene Caamano Loquet. With: Tommy Lee Jones, Charlize Theron, Susan Sarandon, James Franco, Jonathan Tucker, Frances Fisher, Jason Patric, Josh Brolin, Wes Chatham, Jake McLaughlin, Mehcad Brooks, Victor Wolf, Sean Huze, Barry Corbin, Wayne Duvall, Brent Briscoe, Greg Serano, Brent Sexton, Devin Brochu, Zoe Kazan, Glenn Taranto, Jennifer Siebel, Joseph R. Millard, Jo Harvey Allen, Hans Steckly. USA. 120 min. 2007.

By David Sterritt

Tommy Lee Jones plays Hank Deerfield, a retired military man whose son has gone mysteriously missing from his army base soon after returning from combat in the Iraq war; determined to discover what happened to him, Hank comes across a seemingly endless series of secrets and lies, each drawing him deeper into frighteningly dark aspects of human nature, and of the American worldview as well. The title refers to the biblical valley in which David and Goliath, flanked by opposing armies, had their legendary encounter in ancient times.

Writer-director Paul Haggis, of “Crash” and “Million Dollar Baby” fame, has structured the story as partly a detective drama—in one of the film’s more contrived touches, we learn that Hank was a military policeman during the Vietnam era—and partly a moody critique of how cruelly and coldheartedly a rich, powerful nation can treat the young people who represent its only hope for a decent future, not to mention a humane one. The last scene is less than subtle in its symbolism, but packs a terrific narrative punch at a time when most of the mass media are either cheerleading for war or watching indolently from the sidelines with hypocritically wrinkled brows. Haggis may yet develop into a sociopolitical filmmaker of real importance.

The movie is greatly enhanced by the eloquent camera work of Roger Deakins, one of today’s most gifted Hollywood cinematographers. In the cast, Jones gives a brave and expressive performance, his face more lined with age, worn with care, and weakened by melancholy than it’s ever been before. His acting gains in power from Haggis’s subtly observational visual style, which is surprisingly similar to that of Jones’s debut film as a director, “The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada,” one of the very best pictures of 2005. While the beautiful Charlize Theron is hardly the best choice to portray the tough-minded policewoman who joins Hank on his quest, she brings her character convincingly alive. Susan Sarandon has little to do as Hank’s wife, but she does it well; ditto for most of the supporting players. Although this is far from a perfect film, it’s arguably the boldest and most thoughtful mainstream feature about the military mentality in general, and the Iraq quagmire in particular, to reach multiplex screens since George W. Bush launched his delusional Middle East crusade, which has been so badly conceived and executed as to make this movie’s most far-fetched details seem like sober naturalism alongside it. Haggis’s rueful drama deserves a wide and attentive audience.

Film in Focus

2007-09-14T14:58:00.000-04:00

Eastern Promises

By David Sterritt

Director: David Cronenberg. Screenplay: Steve Knight. Cinematography: Peter Suschitzky, Film editing: Ronald Sanders. Production design: Carol Spier. Music: Howard Shore. Producers: Robert Lantos, Paul Webster. With: Naomi Watts, Viggo Mortensen, Vincent Cassel, Armin Mueller-Stahl, Sinéad Cusack, Jerzy Skolimowski, Josef Altin, Mina E. Mina, Aleksandar Mikic, Sarah-Jeanne Labrosse, Raza Jaffrey, Shannon-Fleur Roux, Donald Sumpter, Tereza Srbova, Michael Sarne. UK/Canada. Languages: English/Russian. 99 min. 2007.

After a pregnant foreign-born prostitute falls into a fatal coma while pleading for help in a London pharmacy, a midwife (Naomi Watts) manages to deliver her baby and to retrieve a diary from the dead woman’s clothing, which she searches for clues to her identity so she can send the newborn to her family. Since the diary is written in Russian, she asks a Russian restaurant owner (Armin Mueller-Stahl) to translate it, unaware that he is a member of the infamous Vory V Zakone crime organization, in which his psychopathic son (Cassel) and menacing chauffeur (Mortensen) are also deeply involved. The diary, needless to say, contains information of great interest to the mobsters, and of great potential harm to the woman who found it.

The movie’s tagline, “Every sin leaves a mark,” makes it sound like a probing exploration of good and evil and violence and redemption, and since David Cronenberg is an imaginative visual stylist, he makes effective use of cringe-inducing mayhem and suggestive details, such as the symbolic tattoos etched into the driver’s body as manifest signs of his hard-bitten history and rising position in the criminal syndicate. But intriguing material like this notwithstanding, the film never gets within hailing distance of originality, much less profundity, and critics who praise its novel treatments of bodily inscription and sins of the family are writing about the picture they wish Cronenberg had made, not the one they actually saw. Change the accents and surnames and this would be a standard-issue Mafia yarn, craftily acted but overfamiliar all the same, with a late-story twist that’s as trite as it is tepid in its apparently philosophical intentions.

For a reminder of the heights Cronenberg can reach when he’s most inspired—and Mortensen too, for that matter--take another look at the engrossing 2005 drama A History of Violence,”which is more intelligent and provocative than this from first frame to last. It’s no pleasure to say it, but I can’t think of a weaker Cronenberg film. I suspect his more thoughtful admirers will give it a respectful look and let it pass quietly by, hoping with good reason that he’ll return to top form next time around.

2007-09-13T16:00:00.001-04:00

Style Bubble

Taking Care of the Limbs

By susie_bubble

Apart from slathering the arms and legs with Vaseline Intensive Care, there are other ways of taking care of my limbs. Sadly not everything has moisterising purposes but they do adorn the limbs and make them feel very pretty indeed. I'll throw out a cheesy moment here and say it's rather lovely that in a blogosphere with a roster of regular commentors and via a dialogue of emails and comments, there's a wealth of information to be shared and resulting benefits to be had.

For instance, I recommended a reader head for Sock-Dreams for some delectable thigh highs, and simultaneously reminded myself that I needed to spend a good hour choosing and perusing to once again replenish (ok, I mean overstuff) my sock drawer. Looking at my picks below, it all looks a little like I'm trying out for a part as an extra on the sequel of Moulin Rouge with all the lace-ups, seamings, back hooks and all. But it will all make sense once they wing their way over to me. In any case, ain't nothing with chanelling a bit of the Galliano's Pigalle world.

Legs are now adorned but what of the arms? As I reminded myself about Sock-Dreams because of a reader, a reader reminded me of Gloved Up in a comment. I knew about their bespoke work through their appearances in Vogue Italia but I forgot their arm creations (gloves seems to mundane a term) were available to the public. I haven't plumped for a pair yet as I can't quite decide and i'm also very tempted to work on something magically bespoke with them as they seem so keen to do so.

The PVC balloon sleeve gloves should really be treated as extensions of clothes, ready to be whipped out for that much-needed PVC touch.

I'm loving the shape of the grey translucent plastic but not keen on the faux snakeskin trim, hence why I'm down for discussing some alternative materials with perhaps an even more pronounced shape using the bell sleeves as a basis. The pink chiffon ones may not have too much going on in it but would get the most wear with 30's day dresses and grey worn jersey loose tanks.

How is that that just concentrating on embellishing the limbs can be so much fun in itself?

2007-09-13T15:59:00.001-04:00

Style Bubble

The Wolford Walk

By susie_bubble

Vamp is what I'm feeling even if it is something unattainable for me. After recommending Wolford to a reader for basic fab quality 'bodies' (yes those antiquated garments we wore when we were 12 which are the only way of having a very smooth wrinkle-free top...), I decided to revisit the site for a self-reminder of what's on offer. A lot of designer collaborations apparently. I knew Wolford did them on a regular basis but as predicted, without that usual bit of press coverage, it just slips under the radar. The collaborations really do go beyond the realms of hoisery and underwear, extending to body/shape wear and thus to outerwear.

Valentino and Armani, two designers I'm not a huge fan of or have great indifference towards are the latest Wolford collaborators. Subtle vamp is what I found in their designs....

This Valentino body is perfect skater-skirt accompaniment material plus some super super opaques and ankle boots (of the skater variety if possible). Stockings, this adorned and embellished, just need a t-shirt dress and a chunky knit cardigan.

There's something a little Robert Palmer 'Addicted to Love' about Armani's designs. The black curved bow bustier is again a skater skirt matcher but with a deconstructed mid-calf skirt that's a little CdG-esque and Victorian lace-up boots and I'm there.

Even more random upon further surfing was Zac Posen's collaboration with Wolford which is on sale on the online boutique now. The tights could produce some interesting effects if layered over other tights...

OPINION: Pandering to African-Americans

2007-09-12T11:05:00.001-04:00

By Walter E. Williams
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Via Townhall.com

"I don't feel no ways tired. I come too far from where I started from. Nobody told me that the road would be easy. I don't believe He brought me this far," drawled presidential aspirant Hillary Clinton, mimicking black voice to a black audience, at the First Baptist Church of Selma, Alabama. I'm wondering if Mrs. Clinton visits an Indian reservation she might cozy up to them saying, "How! Me not tired. Me come heap long way. Road mighty rough. Sky Spirit no bring me this far." Or, seeking the Asian vote she might say, "I no wray tired. Come too far I started flum. Road berry clooked. Number one Dragon King take me far."

The occasion of Mrs. Clinton's speech was the 42nd anniversary of Bloody Sunday, on March 7, 1965, when 600 civil rights marchers were attacked by police with billy clubs, cattle prods and tear gas, one of the high points in the black civil rights struggle. Commemorating a key point in American history is one thing, but a white person mimicking black dialect is demeaning and insulting. And, if it buys her votes from those in attendance, not much flattering can be said about them.

Mrs. Clinton later explained her drawl, around black audiences, to a meeting of the National Association of Black Journalists, "I lived all those years in Arkansas, and, you know, I'm in this interracial marriage." The interracial marriage bit has to do with the frequent reference to former President Clinton, by the Congressional Black Caucus and others, as the "first black president."

Mrs. Clinton is not alone in demeaning talk to black people; she's in good company with Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, who talk of "going from the outhouse to the White House" and "from disgrace to amazing grace" and other such nonsense. Neither Clinton nor Revs. Sharpton and Jackson address white audiences in that manner. Before a predominantly black audience, during his 2004 presidential bid, Sen. John Kerry said, in reference to so many blacks in prison, "That's unacceptable, but it's not their fault." I doubt whether Kerry would have told a white audience that jailed white people were faultless. Kerry probably holds whites responsible for their criminal behavior.

In 2004, NAACP President Kweisi Mfume said of President George Bush, "We have a president that's prepared to take us back to the days of Jim Crow segregation and dominance." During the 2000 presidential campaign, Rev. Jesse Jackson warned black audiences by telling them that a Bush win would turn the civil rights clock back to the days of Jim Crow. Now that Bush's two-term presidency is near its end, why wouldn't someone ask Jesse and Kweisi about the accuracy of their predictions?

Suppose some demagogue in 2000 told Jewish Americans that a Bush presidency would mean concentration camps, or told Japanese-Americans that his presidency would mean internment? Do you think such pronouncements would have been welcomed and applauded? I'm sure that had someone made such a stupid prediction to Jewish and Japanese-Americans, they would have had ridicule and scorn heaped upon them.

What does it say about blacks who can be taken in by pandering, alarmist nonsense from both whites and blacks as a means to get their votes? As a black man, I don't find the most obvious answer very flattering.

Dr. Williams serves on the faculty of George Mason University as John M. Olin Distinguished Professor of Economics and is the author of More Liberty Means Less Government: Our Founders Knew This Well.

CLUED TUBE

2007-09-11T20:48:00.000-04:00

Tony Bennett: The Music Never Ends
Produced by Clint Eastwood and Bruce Ricker
Directed by Bruce Ricker
American Masters
PBS
Wednesday, 9/12/07
9-10:30 p.m.

This is a fairly interesting documentary disguised as a bland one about a fairly interesting singer disguised as a bland one.

It is typically hagiographic fare. But that's a particularly apt approach with regard to a singer whose whole career has been a frothy homage to the great American songwriters and the musicians whose repertoire and styles he's borrowed from. In a generous mood, one hears him as a brilliant stylistic blender; in a cynical mood, as the Zelig of crooners, Sinatra Lite. Either way you look at it, he's a survivor, having parlayed a postwar gig with Pearl Bailey into a Grammy-guzzling spree up through the iPod-generation with the status of senior statesman of song.

But the program is trickier than that, and so is Bennett. Editor Joel Cox cleverly cross-cuts between years of Bennett's film, TV, and live performances and the '30s and '40s film musicals that his every fiber reflexively refers to. Bennett's stage essence is the node of a vast network of American showbiz history, so that an over the top finish elicits the aura of Garland, a little impish turn brings to mind Gene Kelly, and a hand gesture telegraphs Astaire suavely flipping a cane. The film clips make that constant production of symbolic echoes explicit.

The program is too flattering by half, of course, but Bennett comes across as such a sweet guy that you can't mind that anymore than you would warm toasts to a founding partner at an office party. So you swallow the tired generalizations about the clannishness of the Italian-American stars like Bennett (born Anthony Benedetto), Sinatra, and Dean Martin. You grin at Anthony Hopkins's pretentious narration on the bel-canto legacy. You cringe that Eastwood can be such a presence in his dramatic films and such a stiff (as he also was in his blues documentary) when serving as hybrid host/interviewer. (Someone give that man some coffee!)

You yawn through the absurd accolades of Bennett's brown-nosing buddies over his visual art, which is very nice but nothing you wouldn't find on the walls of an upscale hotel. (Yes, I know, the Smithsonian shows his work--but do you think they would if he weren't a 50-million-album-selling singer?) You perk up as Times critic Stephen Holden, pianist Bill Charlap, and filmmaker Martin Scorcese talk about the inspirations for and from Bennett's music. And you marvel that the octogenarian Bennett, after sounding a little iffy in the mid-range, finds second and third wind for those high notes.

But it's those durned clips that really grab you and make sense of what Bennett does. He takes a bit of Satchmo hipster-buffoonishness, a trace of Sinatra sympathetic sad sack, a pinch of Crosby aloof amiability, a sprinkle of Bill Evans cool, and a dozen similar elements, and whips them into cream. Much is made of how Sinatra handed Bennett the scepter as king of song. But it's always seemed to me that their relationship was more yin-yang than that. Sinatra, in his surly way, drew you into his world; Bennett happily runs out to meet you in yours. As Alec Baldwin--who imitated Bennett in a fun SNL bit--puts it, Bennett reminds you that showbiz is supposed to be fun. He looks, when he performs, like there's absolutely no where else on earth he'd rather be. That in contrast to Ol' Blue Eyes, who looked more like there were any number of places he could be, he'd be a little melancholy in any of them, and just happened to run into you at this one.

Then there's the living history angle to Bennett, and, better yet, the fact that he was on the correct side of that history. Son of a New York sweatshop dressmaker, he started performing in earnest in Europe in the Army during World War II and the postwar occupation. He was demoted for being too friendly with an African-American soldier buddy.

Back stateside, having been dipped in the theater scene by a hoofer uncle, he got his first gig with Bailey, was scooped up by Bob Hope, and went on to a couple sterling professional decades, whose highlights included a mammoth 1962 show at Carnegie Hall and the recording that same year of his signature "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." He allied himself with the Civil Rights movement through his friendship with Harry Belafonte, complementing Pete Seeger roots music with an urbane rendition of "Just in Time." The same everyman that had dared in the 50s to sing a Hank Williams tune at the Grand Ole Opry in a swank New York suit suggested, through his very presence with the Rev. King, that you didn't have to be a straw-gnawing denim-clad communist to be a white man marching in Selma, just a good guy.

By the late '70s, rock-music competition, cocaine, and overspending had ruined Bennett; but his son Danny became his manager and revived him and his career. Danny, a failed musician with a head for business, did some brilliant marketing jujitsu for his pop, a failed businessman with a head for music. He kept dad doing what he always had, but in front of kids who'd never seen it before and who had a permanent headache from overamped club punk and coliseum rock. From then on, it was smartly concocted theme and duet albums for Bennett. Moral of the story, I guess: Sometimes even a survivor needs a reviver.

A winning guy found his winning formula, and, more remarkable yet in the entertainment industry, managed not to piss off everyone he met along the way. That--apologies to the Bergmans and Michel Legrand--is how you keep the music playing.

-Alexander C. Kafka

Photo © Mark Seliger; courtesy, PBS

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